


Blossoming Souls

by ForeverAlone5



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Idiots in general too, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Miscommunication, Sanders Sides Bang, Sanders Sides Big Bang 2019, Tags Are Hard, let me emphasize the Miscommunication tag though, no beta we die like idiots, patton why would you do that to me, puns are so hard to think of, slight homophobia, slight slow burn, there is distinctly more friendship and fun than there is romance, there's more moxiety than i planned, this has gotten more convoluted than i was willing to make
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-08-23 11:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 46,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20242204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForeverAlone5/pseuds/ForeverAlone5
Summary: Prince Roman Aster is the ideal prince. Suave, brave, charming. He can easily defeat any combination of monsters within a few hours and still be have time to woo anyone who catches his fancy.Prince Logan Wysteria is the ideal prince. Obedient, intelligent, strategic. He can easily dismantle any argument or strategy his enemies can come up with in a matter of minutes.The two have never met, but when the words ‘arranged marriage’ slip out, Prince Roman does everything he can to ensure that the two kingdoms will have a successful treaty.But why doesn’t Prince Logan seem to notice his attempts at courting?





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King of Aowhea makes a decision; the King of Eiehde concedes; the princes of those two countries don't like that decision

“Must it be done, my King?” the King’s advisor asked.

“I’ve no way around it,” the King said wearily.

His face sunken and head bowed slightly. The posture of a defeated man. “The Kingdom of Aowhea insists on this contract, refusing any other stipulation. Furthermore, we need the commodities that that Kingdom can provide lest we suffer through another hungry winter.”

“His Highness would be unwilling to accommodate, I had thought.”

“Roman is another sort, he wishes for more flights of fancy and is not as grounded in reality as much as I wish,” the King sighed. “However, he does know his duty to the crown; I have spoken to him and he understood the necessities that he must go through for the people.”

“And the Kingdom of Aowhea?” the advisor asked. “We haven’t dealt with such- and I’m sorry to say, your Majesty- such an insidious group in years.”

“Virgil, you, more than most, understand that appearances can be deceiving.”

Virgil dipped his head, black curly hair falling in front of his eyes, but did not agree. “I was another problem altogether, your Majesty.”

“Be that as it may, I’ve written the letter, agreeing to his terms. The Prince is not a bad man, Virgil, this union will aid our kingdom. What with their army and all. It is a give and take. We have our navy and they have their army. We’ll be powerful allies in times of war.”

Virgil scowled, but nodded his head, able to see the justification, “If you think it necessary, then I shall agree, my King. However, should there be signs of malcontent, I advise a stipulation that the contract be null and void.”

“Of course,” the King smirked, “Years of your nagging _has_ gotten to me, I have added our own sort of contingencies.”

Virgil nodded, a small quirk of a smile on his lips. He bowed, “I shall inform the Prince of your decision, Majesty. When shall we expect His Royal Highness of Aowhea to arrive?”

“In three days’ time, it shall be enough for the Prince to get his bearings,” the King announced, standing up. He waved the advisor away, “Tell Roman that I thank him, and I shall see him at dinner tonight.”

“According to your will, your Majesty,” Virgil bowed low, striding out of the office room.

The King glanced down at the parchment, rereading the words that he had signed with a sick sort of dread.

_Marriage Arrangement_

He closed his eyes, breathing in once, twice, three times deeply, and set his pen to ink before signing it with quick and clever strokes.

“Please, Lady above, may this arrangement be one of happiness and unity,” he whispered to the heavens above. His eyes glanced out the window, seeing his son parry and attack with a wide grin.

The King felt a sad smile spread across his face, “May my son find love even in this cruel union, I ask this in Your most Holy name. Amen.”

* * *

“Is this necessary, Father?”

“My son,” the King’s deep rasp echoed throughout the empty throne room. His rigid stance and empty eyes bore into the Prince’s, who shivered.

His hands twitched with the need to fix his glasses, but he kept that clasped firmly behind his back.

The golden and black robes the King wore was simple, yet elegant enough that it made the Prince’s simple blue tunic feel inferior. His heterochromia was piercing, one golden and one brown, and seemed to stare into the depths of his soul.

The burn mark on his left side of his face was a stain that seemed to be darker as he stared down at Logan. His Father shared so many of the same features, from their dark skin tone down to their broad shoulders. If it wasn’t for Logan’s smaller height and his eyes, the two could have been mistaken for brothers.

But Logan felt no pride in that distinction. The only feature of himself that he loved were his blue eyes. He had his mother’s eyes.

“Do you not want our kingdom to be successful?”

“Father, that is not what I-”

“Do you wish to see our kingdom crumble?”

The Prince stammered, hands clenched at his side, nails digging into the palm of his hands. His heart clenched at the insinuation. “Father, I would never-”

“Then why is it that you hesitate, Logan?” The King's glare made Logan crumble, his will shriveling up as if it had never existed in the first place.

He nodded in defeat, eyes downcast and hands clasped behind his back again, twisting and tightening in a nervous tic. “As you command, Father, and so I shall obey.”

“Good,” the King's voice was seeped with satisfaction and victory. Logan didn't look up, knowing that he would only see his Father's steely, cruel glare.

“You are dismissed,” the King said haughtily.

Logan nodded once, turning on his heel and exiting the throne room. He held his head high as he strode toward the doors.

Typically he could ignore the stares of the guards stationed by the doors, but as the rays of the sun bore on him through the thin awnings, he felt as if even more critical eyes were on him.

The giant, open windows contrasted greatly with the frigid atmosphere. Logan put a hand on the handle, pushing slightly on the wooden door.

He walked out of the throne room, breathing out a heavy sigh of relief. The overbearing atmosphere had suffocated him, and he was glad to be out of it.

His feet automatically set forth toward his room, the familiar path bringing unwanted thoughts to the forefront of his mind.

The door opened with the help of a guard, and Logan was almost distracted enough to not nod his gratitude to him, fortunately catching himself and nodded stiffly. He slammed the door shut, bracing his forearms against the wooden door.

His eyes clenched tightly shut, breath rattling his lungs. His forehead rested on his arms, a steady pressure to focus upon.

Clenching his jaw, he counted backwards from ten, reaching two until his heart stopped aching and his thoughts settled.

“Highness?” Patton’s soft concern enveloped him, and he felt like sagging against the door.

He straightened, fixing his tunic and ascot. “Apologies, Patton,” his voice was hoarse, “I had not realized you were there.”

Patton made a sympathetic humming sound, feet padding toward Logan whose back was still toward him.

He laid a gentle hand on Logan's shoulder, warm and reassuring, “What happened, my Prince?”

“Nothing of importance, Patton,” Logan evaded. He twisted away from Patton’s grip, heading toward his desk.

Shuffling papers together, he produced a fresh sheet of parchment, taking out his pen and ink canister.

He dipped the pen into the canister, hand shaking as the tip touched parchment. Inhaling deeply, he inscribed the words he needed to send to the Kingdom of Eiehde.

The room was suffocating as he wrote, Patton’s concerned stare boring into his back. His hand ached as he penned the words to paper, sending his transcript away.

“Your Highness,” Patton’s voice was stern, and Logan's pen stilled. “You needn't be afraid of telling me your dilemmas. After all, what better than a personal guard to guard all your secrets?”

Logan sighed and set his pen in the inkwell. He cast his head downward, eyes closed, “Father wishes to send me as an envoy to the Kingdom of Eiehde.”

“Why is your face such a sight, Highness?” Patton asked. “There is no need to be such a seed against that bloom of opportunity. Did you not wish for a chance outside these palace walls?”

“Not when it is obvious that Father just wishes to send me away,” Logan spat harshly. He sat down heavily at his desk chair, shoulders drooping in weariness.

Patton’s feet padded lightly over to him, putting his hands on Logan’s shoulders and rubbing tense muscles away. Logan relaxed slightly, the anger simmering less in his chest with only the memory lingering still.

“Think of it as this, Highness,” Patton murmured lowly in his ear, “this is your chance for your Father to be proud of you. Should you do a good job upon your return then he shall send you again, trusting your judgement on bigger and better matters.”

Logan hummed, a soft buzz tingling his body. His body felt heavy from the day’s trysts, and he wanted to hide away in the cover of his bed as protection. He knew it was illogical, to want such solace, but he yearned for even an ounce of comfort from his Father.

“Perhaps,” he sighed, pulling away from Patton’s grip. He bent down, looking at the foreboding parchment in front of him.

He shook his head, folding the paper in three crisp folds and sealing it away with a wax seal. “Send this to the nearest messenger, if you please.”

“Of course, Highness,” Patton bowed his head, sending for a page.

Logan looked longingly out the window at the school children, laughing and smiling as they ran through the town square. Shaking his head away from those thoughts, he turned away and went back to the other stacks of papers.

“Perhaps I shall learn of our relationship with Eiehde,” he murmured quietly and picked up another paper.

“My King, do you think it wise to do this to your son?”

The King gave his advisor a cold glare, but she held a steady gaze with him. Her short, dirty blonde hair was pinned with blue clips next to her eyes, and her stance was firm. The King made an effort to stare her down, but after so many years together it proved fruitless.

“Emile, there is no other way. The rebels have already sent their threat, and Logan is not as beloved by the people as Valerie. If he dies, it is the fault of mine. The people will see his possible death as a weakening of the throne. Logan knows only theory, he needs experience.”

“Sire, I fault you not for that but of the rebels,” Emile pointed out, her green eyes glaring at him. “You spoiled him, allowing him to read to his heart’s content rather than tutoring him on court matters.”

She paused, eyes watching him carefully over the rim of her glasses. “He shall think you are sending him away again.”

“Am I not?” He chuckled hollowly, “My son would rather spend his time reading books or whiling away in the libraries, I accept that. I will not accept, however, that he does not know how to rule. Perhaps this union will prove learning for him.”

“Your Majesty, understand that your son already seems to think ill will against you with your constant isolation away from him.”

“Enough,” the King’s cold voice echoed darkly in the small study. He stood up, walking past Emile and grabbing a sealed letter.

“This,” he brandished the paper in front of himself, “is a copy of the agreement that the King of Eiehde and I signed. We have agreed that my son must first adjust to the new palace before the wedding.”

Her eyes narrowed, darkening green eyes flashing, “You have gone behind my back, Sire, and did this without my knowledge?”

“Can a king not rule without an advisor breathing down his neck?”

“Not when it comes to the future of your kingdom,” Emile said, eyes blazing in outrage. She took a deep breath, asking in a strained but calmer voice, “What of your son, what does he have to say to this- this situation?”

“Logan knows his duties, he knows that this must be done,” the King waved away her concerns. “He accepted my demands.”

“Does he even know that you are marrying him off? Or does he think otherwise?” She asked, knowing tone and eyes boring into the King.

The King turned his back to her, looking out the window and silently answering her question.

She let out a harsh breath, “So that’s it? Your only son is going to be shipped off with a ribbon tied around him while his sister gets the throne?”

“The wedding will be in a month and a half’s time,” the King said evenly, not turning to face her. “From there, relations between Aowhea and Eiehde will strengthen and allyship will be beneficial for the both of us.”

“While I agree that this would benefit relationships between our two kingdoms-”

“Then we reach an accord.”

She continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “I just wish that you had gone about it in a different way.”

The King’s back tensed before it sagged out of him, he sighed heavily, “As do I, Emile, as do I.”

“My King,” her voice was gentle, but the King didn’t want to face her pitying face.

“There was no other way around it, Emile,” the King spoke up suddenly, turning to face her. “Logan was a laughing stock amongst my council.”

His face contorted into a sneer, “They think that being educated means less than gaining power, the ability to manipulate politics and people being better than gaining knowledge.”

She scoffed an incredulous laugh, and the King nodded wearily, “As if they did not go through schooling themselves. They find it odd that a ‘distinguished’ man such as Logan would continue learning and not immediately learn a craft, in his case ruling. They think it wrong for a man to not want to hunt or fight, but to only read.”

“Why are you unable to replace your council again?”

“They’ve much power within the ranks,” he said. “I can do no more than I have now. Sending Logan away where he will not be ridiculed is the best I can do.”

“The council will not like this,” Emile said. “They believe a marriage between two men unsightly. They will object.”

“Let them,” the King said. “I’ve already signed the treaty. My way of helping my boy and getting back at the council.”

Emile gave a wry smile. “He shall still think that you love him not,” she added. “All his life, he has been striving for some sort of your affection, and yet you refuse to show him any.”

“So be it,” the King said, unconcerned. “He is grown, and his own man. He needs not my approval to do well in life. This is for the sake of the kingdom.”

“Majesty, that isn’t any way to raise your child.”

“And how shall I know the ‘correct’ way in raising children?”

“You’ve raised two,” Emile pointed out dryly, her pink glasses falling to the tip of her nose as she stared at the King, unimpressed. “Besides that, parenting is a learned trait, learning new things every day.”

“Bah!” he waved away her concern again. “Logan is his own man, he knows how to handle himself.”

Emile sighed, raking a hand through her short hair. “As you say, Majesty. When is his Highness leaving?”

“In three days’ time,” the King shifted, walking back to his desk. He picked up a photo, smiling sadly at it. The bright blue eyes of his son staring back up at him, looking so much like his wife. At times like these, he missed his wife.She would know what to do. The burn on his left feeling itchier and heavier than usual. He sighed, setting the photo down and glancing at the bobbing head of a small rooster figure, pecking up and down, “May he find the love he needs.”

“Amen.”

* * *

“_What_!”

“Roman, please,” King Thomas pleaded tiredly. He rubbed his eyes, “You and I both know that this was a possibility. Arranged marriages are not uncommon.”

“But not so soon, Father!” he protested. He threw his arms up, and started pacing back and forth in front of his bed. The King watched as he walked back and forth, half torn between amusement and tiredness.

Roman ran a hand through his red-brown hair, “Father, you promised me that I would get a chance at true love!”

“Perhaps this is your chance at true love, my son,” the King said gently. “You can court the young Prince, and you may even fall in love.”

“Please,” he scoffed, dismissing his Father’s optimism. “The Prince of Aowhea is unfeeling, he knows not kindness nor love, should I court him, he shall rebuff me.”

“And where have you heard such rumours?” the King frowned, he shifted on the bed, his back hitting the headboard.

“The people gossip,” he waved a dismissive hand. “And since our kingdom borders Aowhea, the towns trade with each other. Though the trade routes have become more treacherous since Aowhea’s bandit problems have become more and more troublesome. Our soldiers struggle maintaining the peace.”

“Indeed,” the King nodded with a slight frown. “Hopefully this union will be able to fix that. However, gossip does not mean the truth. Perhaps, there is a misconception about the Prince.”

“Still,” Roman insisted, pausing to stare at his Father. “Rumours lie in truth somewhere.”

“That may be true, Roman, but first get to know the boy before you make any harsh judgements of him. You mustn’t judge a person by his rumours.” The King smiled knowingly at the Prince, “Are there not rumours of your facing of the Dr-?”

“Father!” Roman was bright red and indignant, strands of curly brown-red hair falling in front of his eyes. “We agreed not to speak of that!”

The King let out a hearty laugh, same reddish-brown curls bouncing back as his head bobbed up and down. “I jest, I jest, my son. Regardless, the Prince cannot be as horrible as others make him out to be. Look at Virgil, he seems like a gruff man, when he is in fact the sweetest and most intelligent man I’ve met.”

“Look out there, Father, else I assume that Virgil shall be my new Father,” Roman teased, knowing full well how the King would react.

The King made a disgusted face, wrinkling his nose, and Roman laughed. He sighed, “Virgil is practically your age. I have seen him grow up, that- that is just not right.”

“Of course, Father, I merely jest about that.” Roman said with a laugh. He made a pensive hum, expression shifting to a thoughtful one, “Perhaps… perhaps I shall give his Highness a chance. After all, we gave Virgil one, and now he is the most trusted advisor in the kingdom.”

“I knew you would see my way,” the King beamed. He stood up, crossing over to Roman.

Clapping a hand on his shoulder, the King said, “The Prince shall come three days hence. He shall stay with us for a month, and then the wedding shall commence. Unless something happens and the contract becomes void, of course.”

Roman nodded distantly, murmuring, “Gives me enough time for another hunt.”

The King fixed him with a stern glare, “You must be here to welcome the Prince’s arrival, Roman, there is no way around this. We need this agreement.”

Roman nodded somberly, bowing, “As you will, Father, and I shall obey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for the Sanders Sides big bang of 2019. Buckle in kiddos, this is going to be a wild ride. Thanks for reading, and comment what you liked or disliked in the place below!  
My tumblr is rubyredsparks!  
Also shout out to Taylor for keeping me sane, you know who you are.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Logan reflects on his family as he gets ready to go to Eiehde. Prince Roman tries to avoids his future.

“Your Highness, are you ready to embark toward Eiehde?” Patton asked gently. He was dressed in thick, warm riding garments. A bag was thrown over his shoulder as he readied for the journey.

Logan stared out the window of his, now former, home. He watched as trade was exchanged, smiles were given and laughs were free. His own clothes were simple and warm in comparison to Patton’s, a dark hue to Patton’s own light.

His heart ached that his life couldn't be as simple as that, an apprentice for a librarian or an alchemist, something not… this.

He had been curious to see how Eiehde conducted their monarchy, well more of a democracy with a leader. It was vastly different from his own experience where there was a council who voted in their own favour rather than the people's.

Perhaps that was why his Father was sending him away.

Logan knew that his Father wasn't dimwitted to not notice the power difference between the King and the council. The council had been pressing matters and forcing his Father's hand on certain issues more and more, even going so far as doing so behind his back.

Yes, perhaps his Father was right in sending him away. That way Logan could learn how Eiehde was able to thrive and flourish as a kingdom without power hungry council members.

“Knock, knock,” a soft voice said alongside two gentle knocks of wood.

Logan turned around to see his sister in the doorway, Patton excusing himself with a kind smile.

“Sister,” he greeted amiably, a genuine smile on his lips. He reached up to adjust his glasses, a nervous tic that he could never grow out of. “What brings you to my room, dear sister?”

“Can a sister not wish her little brother fair travels on his last day home?” her long, brown hair trailing behind her in a loose braid, and her face held a gentle expression.

He made a face at being called little, but sighed as an unbidden smile spread across his face, “Of course, Valerie. Your thoughts?”

“I think,” her words were slow, thoughtful as she tried to mediate between Father and brother, “that Father was right to send you as envoy. You are the smartest of the two of us as well as eager to learn. I, for one, enjoy being Crown Princess and learning all I need to be the next sovereign.”

Logan sniggered as Valerie rolled her eyes, elongating her last few words. He sobered, “Father's force shall come full out now that I am gone.”

She winced, eyes softening. Crossing the room to him, she outstretched her arms, “Father's not like that, and I sincerely apologize that he feels he must act that way around you.”

Logan melted into her embrace, but stiffened as she spoke. “Clearly we have two very different perceptions of Father. He despises me.”

She frowned, “On the contrary, Father knows that you are an intellectual, that you want to do with learning rather than ruling. He admires that about you, but knows that because of our… ways he can’t show that.”

Logan huffed, pulling away from her, “It matters not. I leave for Eiehde in a few minutes, and the only one to see me off has been you.”

“Logan,” Valerie said pleadingly. She reached out for him again, but he turned to the window, staring out.

“I would rather not talk about this on my last day, sister,” Logan said quietly. Valerie sighed, nodding in understanding.

She walked toward him, standing somberly next to him. She gazed out the window, pointing at the garden in the corner, “That is where we used to play, is it not, brother?”

“Indeed,” he nodded stiffly, before crossing his arms across his chest, pulling into himself. “The gardener never liked me.”

"Xe did so!” Valerie protested, “Xe just didn’t like how you seemed to know so much of the growing aspect of the plants.”

“Knowledge is the best pursuit of life,” Logan said stiffly.

“That may be so, but it’s difficult to take so seriously a young boy caked with mud and battering you with dozens of questions left and right,” Valerie grinned, and it widened when Logan’s lips twitched in fondness.

“Be that as it may,” Logan said, “I leave now.”

Valerie’s smile faded, and she watched as a carriage pulled up into the palace gates. Logan turned away, walking to his desk to stow away more papers and books. He packed his inkwell and pens safely in his messenger bag, and picked up a photo of himself, his sister, Father and mother all smiling up at him.

He sighed, but still carefully placed it inside his bag. Valerie watched as he recounted all the items he would need for a three week trip. Her lips were in a frown as he snapped his bag shut, and swung it over his shoulder.

Facing her, his face was impassive, “I suppose this is goodbye, sister dear.”

She nodded silently, slightly upset at his leaving. Logan’s face was a conflicted mess, flickering with indecision. He crossed over to her, chastely kissing her cheek before stiffly nodding and whispering his goodbye.

Valerie held a hand to her cheek, a surprised look in her eyes as she stood, frozen, staring at the door where Logan had left.

A grin spread across her face as she raced out the doors, hair flying behind her, after him.

* * *

“My Prince,” Virgil’s stern voice halted Roman’s actions. He stood still, and holding his horse’s saddle, with his back to Virgil.

“Yes?” He asked, after a moment’s silence, and resumed to ready his horse. “Was there something you wanted, Virgil? And stop calling me such formal names; we’ve practically known each other since we were kids.”

Virgil sighed, not correcting him, “Why are you going on a hunt days before the Prince of Eiehde arrives, Roman? You and I both know how much this union means to the kingdom.”

He brushed his horse’s mane, the mare whinnying quietly in content. There was a beat of silence where it nearly became unbearable. His arm fell to his side, one coming up to fiddle with a strand of his own hair.

“I need to think.”

“And that requires going on a two day journey,” Virgil’s disbelief was poignant in the stable. Hay crunched under Virgil’s heavy footfalls. His hand fell to rest on Roman’s shoulders, a warm presence upon him.

“Princey, we need you here.”

Roman scoffed, a sound that escaped him too late before he could rein it in. Virgil’s hand squeezed his shoulder, “We _do_ need you, Highness. But I can see that you need this hunt. Just- just take Remy with you.”

“Ugh, what?” Roman whined, stamping his feet slightly. He turned to look down to an amused Virgil with his lips pulled down in an exaggerated pout. “I don’t need a babysitter, Virgil.”

“I’m not suggesting a babysitter for you, Roman,” Virgil said patiently. “I would just feel better if you had someone with you. And I can’t just abandon _my_ own duties to look after you.”

“Fine,” he huffed, turning around again and brushing his horse a little harsher than necessary. His mare whinnied in distress, and he hushed her, apologizing for his anger.

“Thank you for your permission, Highness.” Virgil said dryly, “I’ll send for Remy now.”

“No need, gurl!” Remy’s over-enthusiastic voice echoed in the stable. Roman winced, and Virgil gave him an unapologetic grin, shrugging.

“I’m right here!” Remy came crashing through the gate, eyeing Virgil up and down, decked in leather and cotton, similar to Roman’s simple riding garb. “Where’s we headin’?”

Roman sighed, but mustered up a grin for Remy, “It’s just a normal hunt, Remy, nothing too strenuous.”

“I shall take my leave, Highness,” Virgil bowed low before straightening and nodding his head at Remy.

“So,” Remy’s sunglasses glinted against the glare of the sun. Roman ignored him, leading his horse out of the stable steadily. Remy followed him, sneering slightly at the hay and mud under his feet.

Roman wasn’t exactly sure what Remy’s position was in the castle. He ran around helping the messengers deliver letters when they were understaffed, loved to help bake even though the kitchens didn’t need another hand and steered clear from the libraries and stables.

The blond was always nursing a mug of some sort, the contents in it a perpetual mystery. He took a sip from his thermos, “Why are you running away, Highness?”

Roman froze, “What do you mean?” He saddled his horse, swinging one leg up and over the horse’s back. He tested the reins, firm in his hands.

Remy did the same, another horse that Roman didn’t notice being brought out by a stable-hand. He didn’t look impressed at Roman’s evasion, giving him a deadpan stare.

“Do you not want this arrangement, Highness?”

He scoffed, “Who wants their life to be dictated by politics, Remy? Certainly not me.”

“But it’s for the good of the kingdom.”

“Yes, yes, the kingdom and how this union will bring financial stability and protection for us. Well, if I am to sacrifice my freedom for the good of the kingdom, I want my last few days of freedom doing what I love best: adventuring.”

Remy sighed, “Of course, princess. Shall we be off?”

“You aren’t allowed to address me like that!” Roman cried, offended. His eyes held the humour his tone was lacking, and his lips twitched in conflict of smiling or frowning.

Remy’s sunglasses glinted deviously as he smirked, “Race ya, princess.”

He kicked the sides of his horse and sped off, leaving Roman gaping at him in his dust. Roman shook himself out of his reverie and laughed.

He kicked the sides of his mare and followed after him, a grin spreading across his face as his hair flew back in the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roman's a bit of an idiot, isn't he? Running away from your problems isn't healthy. Anyway, leave what you liked or disliked in the chapter below! Thanks so much for reading!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Logan of Aowhea and his trusted guard and friend, Patton, are journeying to Eiehde. Along the way, they run into some trouble. Also bandits.

Logan scribbled in his journal furiously, back hunched over and glaring when the carriage bumped and he had to pause his writing.

Patton watched in worry as Logan’s back and shoulders tensed as every minute passed. He tapped his fingers idly on his thighs, eyes glancing between Logan and the window every other second.

A few more moments passed by before Logan looked up in annoyance. He snapped his journal closed with a finality that Patton was impressed by, “What is it, Patton?”

“Well, Highness-”

“How many times have I told you, Patton, alone with the two of us you may call me Logan,” he interrupted with an irritated but fond smile. His pen tapped lightly on his leather journal, and his leg bounced restlessly up and down.

“Logan,” Patton conceded with a smile. “I just wanted to know how you were taking this. You were not in the right state of mind before….”

Patton trailed off when Logan sighed resignedly, “Yes, well, I have come to terms with it, at the very least. I have no other choice, Patton, and I fear I never will again.”

Patton frowned, reaching forward to grab Logan’s hand in comfort, “Logan, of course you’ll still have a choice. Whatever made you think otherwise?”

Logan looked out the window, biting his lip in thought, “It is of no serious matter, Patton. It is just- I fear that Father does not know what to do with me and sent me here as proof of that.”

“Your Father does care for you, there is no doubt about that.”

“Except I _do_ doubt,” Logan countered, ripping his lip bloody in worry. “Father has never looked at my accomplishments toward the pursuit of knowledge. He barely glanced at them. I can only assume that this is his way of getting rid of me.”

“Logan, no-”

The carriage skidded to a harsh stop, and Patton barely held his own as he tried not to fall on top of Logan. He squeezed Logan’s hand before letting go, a hand on his hip.

“What was that?” Logan asked, a tremble of fear in his voice. “The Kingdom of Eiehde is three days away inward, and it has only been two. We should be riding for another few hours at least.”

Loud shrieks tore through the air, and Logan gasped, putting a hand over his mouth. Patton squeezed his eyes shut in sorrow before he forced them open. Distantly, the horses reared, neighing loudly, hooves thundering away against the ground.

He took out his sword, the sharp glint of the weapon barely fitting inside the carriage. Pulling out a small dagger, he handed it to Logan, “Highness, should something happen, take this and run. Run as fast as you can away from here and show no mercy.”

Pointing to a small hatch through the side of the carriage, he said quickly, central Aowhean accent thickening, “There’s a hatch there. If you hear something bad, or someone’s tryin’ ta come in, pull it open, go through there and run. The door’ll be locked when it shuts. For now, hide.”

Logan swallowed, “Patton-”

“Highness, _promise_ me,” Patton’s face was serious as he stared into Logan’s blue eyes.

“Y-yes, I promise,” Logan stuttered, curling his trembling fingers over the dagger’s hilt.

“Until we meet again, Highness,” Patton tried to give him a reassuring smile that only came off more as a grimace.

Logan nodded, and Patton gave him one last nod before cautiously exiting the carriage with sword at the ready.

* * *

Patton was cautious as he stepped out of the carriage, sword drawn and held between him and his supposed enemy.

A rough hand shoved him against the side of the carriage, the door slamming closed automatically, and had a tip of a sword against his neck. Patton grimaced against the hot, heavy huffs of air breathing down his face.

A yellowed sneer greeted his face, and a hard twist against his wrist made him drop his sword. “‘Lo, there, Pretty Boy, what’s a boy like you ridin’ ‘round in this ‘ere fancy v’icles?”

“Why should I tell you?” Patton grunted out, he wrenched his wrist out of the woman’s grip, only for it to be pinned against the carriage as well.

“Just going for a quiet ride,” he panted out where her grip on the sword pinched some skin on his neck.

“A quiet ride in the royal carriage,” she scoffed, her scar popped into view as her eyebrows scrunched together.

He spread his legs quietly, his boots grinding into the gravel nearly inaudible. His feet positioned itself firmly, heels and toes on the ground.

“Now,” the blonde woman unsheathed a small knife, bringing the tip to his left cheek. Patton barely held back a flinch, wrinkling his nose at her yellow-stained teeth grin. “Why don’t you go on an’ tell me what it is, you’re _really_ doin’ ‘ere.”

“Nothing much, kiddo,” Patton grunted, “but it’s a real _kick_ to _knee_ nature up close.” He didn’t give her a chance to be confused by his words, and quickly kneed her away from him.

She doubled over with a groan, dropping her knife and cutting him slightly. Her arm fell to wrap around her stomach, and her head was down.

The dirty blonde recovered quickly, pinning him with a glare and growling audibly. She was tall, Patton noticed, taller than him by a few centimeters.

She straightened slightly before her back stooped toward an offensive stance. Patton got a good look at her.

Her hair was pinned up with some sticks, leather jacket and riding pants thick and defensive, perfect for ready made armor, a purple bandana tied over her mouth.

Her arms were spread and two long daggers quickly made their way into her hands.

Patton’s jaw clenched, mirroring her stance, one hand with a small dagger. He didn't give a warning before lunging at her, swiping quickly.

She blocked him easily with crossed daggers, an easy sneer on her lips. He grunted, stepping back and huffing.

She took that as her opportunity, reaching out with one arm. He dodged instinctively before narrowly dodging her other arm, getting nicked on his arm.

He wiped away a trickle of blood, growling at her.

Her eyes were bright with glee, infuriating, “Wanna give it up, doll? Just give me your money, and we'll call it even split.”

“I should've known.” Patton’s eyes narrowed. “You're a bandit.”

“And?” her smile spread slowly across her face. “Girl's gotta eat, don't I? I'm doin’ ya a favour anyhows. Those damned royals don't do shit for us penny-folk.”

“The Kingdom of Aowhea is doing-”

“Its best?” she interrupted with a roll of her eyes. “Please, I'm sure I could reform the country within a week at most.”

“Well, kiddo, the King is under a lot of stress-” Patton tried with a frown.

She rolled her eyes again, “So am I, wonderin’ ‘bout my next meal, doll face. C'mon out boys.”

Whistling high and shrill, three men dropped out of the trees, flanking her right, left and back.

The one on her right was decked in leather, pants, jacket, shirt, and not looking the slightest bit uncomfortable. Even his face was covered in the material, only brown eyes and mouth showing. His smile was glinting in the sun, yellow and rotting with one shining gleam of gold.

The one on her left seemed like a normal teenager, if not for the malicious grin and tattoos covering his forearms and neck. Patton shivered, the apathy of the boy revolting.

The last man was a tall, sturdy tree against the wind, quiet and looming over everyone's head. His beard and impassive face seemed to be his only stint features beside his tallness. Though his eyes held a lack of... emotion.

Patton shifted uneasily, keeping a steady smile on his face. “More kiddos! How fun! Guess we aren't monkeying around anymore, just goes ta show ya how to app-tree-iate a good thyme!”

The blonde woman only scowled, green eyes darkening, taking up her position again, “Alright rich boy, let's dance.”

“Ooh!” Patton wiggled in mock excitement, though he was sure the others thought otherwise. “Tango? Or Rumba? I have to admit though, I'm not a good waltzer.”

She growled, giving up any other pretense and lunged at him, but he easily sidestepped her.

As she tumbled forward, he smiled innocently at the leather man who had stood to the right of the woman before balling his fist and punching his face.

He went back, head flying backwards in pain and shock. Patton took that distraction to knee him between the legs, and he easily doubled over, tears streaming out of his eyes.

The other three stared at him in shock, and he shrugged noncommittally.

The blonde shook her head, slightly dazed, but growled, “Get him!”

She rushed toward him, and he pulled her arm forward, allowing the momentum to pull her back.

She ran into the tattooed man, stumbling together. Her bandana had come loose, and they untangled themselves quickly, rushing back to try and get to Patton.

The leathered man was still incapacitated, and the tall giant didn't seem to mind too much as he gingerly stepped over him and faced Patton.

Patton gave him an apologetic smile, shrugging as he stood defensively.

The man mirrored his smile, shrugging and bending his knees. He moved first, and Patton struck, aiming for his knees.

The tall one capitulated, sinking to the ground. He didn't seem to mind all that much, sitting defeated.

“Oh, it's on, rich boy,” the blonde woman's face was screwed up in an ugly sneer, her face red in extortion.

“Ho there!”

Galloping crunched against the gravel road, and all looked up to see two men and four horses riding up to them.

Patton looked to the front of the carriage, finally noting that there weren't any horses hitched up to it.

A man with a neat bun and simple riding attire pulled up to the five of them, raising an eyebrow, “Is there a problem here?”

“Yes!” the woman said suddenly, pointing at Patton. “This man is a bandit, and he tried to steal from this carriage ‘ere. We were only tryin’ ta stop ‘im-”

“Of course,” the man with a shocking head of blond hair interrupted with a bored drawl, “but seeing as how he's wearing a royal insignia on his shoulders, I'm gonna have to call bullshit on that accusation.”

“Well!” the woman stammered, trying to save face, almost pleading with the bored blond. “He could've easily stolen that.”

The blond with the sunglasses didn't even deign that with a response, quirking his eyebrow in amusement.

The other man with the reddish-brown hair said calmly from high on his horse, “We can easily find out. There's a sheriff's outpost not-”

“That's unnecessary,” the tall giant said deeply. “We'll be on our way.”

The woman looked as if to say something before a stern look from the tall man caused her to deflate. He picked up the doubled over man and steered the tattoo one away.

Patton waved cheerily to them as they stomped past, the woman scowling fiercely at him.

“Well, wasn't that a bandit-full experience.” Patton said, breaking the tension. He took in the two strangers’ appearances, guard up.

The two were still on their horses, and the brown tanned one dismounted first. His boots dug into the gravel, and his horse neighed slightly in discomfort.

“Are you alright?” he asked in concern, his brown eyes were bright in concern. He stretched his hand out toward Patton, but Patton didn’t take it.

They had distinctive Eiehden accents, sharp even speaking in the common tongue.

Patton smiled benevolently, “Oh shucks, no need for any concern, kiddo! I’m perfectly fine, you two can just go on your way now!”

“I insist upon at least chaperoning you towards your destination,” he said firmly.

Patton let his smile fade away into a small frown, “Really, I don’t need it. And since you returned our horses, we’ll be fine.”

“Well- wait. ‘Our’? Who else is here?” the blond man asked, dismounting. He looked at Patton over his sunglasses in slight suspicion.

He winced, “Nobody of consequence. Please go on your way.”

“Let us at least accompany you,” the tanned man insisted again, reddish-brown eyes burrowing into Patton who didn’t waver.

“No-”

“Are you knights from the kingdom of Eiehde?” Logan’s voice cut Patton off.

“Highness!” Patton exclaimed, rushing to him.

Logan seemed physically unharmed, visibly shaken but fine. His hands clutched tightly at his journal, the dagger nowhere to be seen. Patton could see the imperceptible tremble of his shoulders.

The two men exchanged looks, and the blond one shook his head firmly before the redheaded one rolled his eyes and looked toward them.

“Yes, we are. Why do you ask?” the tanned one looked curiously at Logan.

Patton shifted to stand in front of Logan, guarding him from view. Logan, for his sake, didn’t say anything about the change in position, only staring firmly at the two strangers.

“We are on our way towards the Kingdom of Aowhea, and well-” he winced. “Our coachman has been disposed of awfully. We’ve no idea where to go, and while following the path seems the most advisable action, should there be a fork in the road we’ve no idea of which way to go. It is inadvisable for our journey to deviate from its current course.”

“Well, we were just on our way back home,” the tanned man said slowly. “We’d be glad to help guide you two on your way!”

“Excellent,” Logan’s glasses flashed in satisfaction. “Now may we exchange our names to be familiar with each other?”

The blond blinked, “You could’ve asked us what our names was.”

“Is that not what I did?” Logan asked, uncomprehending.

Patton shook his head with a small smile, “Well, hi there! I’m Patton! It’s nice to meet’cha!”

“Remy,” the blond said in reply, taking a sip from a canister that came out of nowhere.

“R- Thomas,” the other stuttered. He looked nervously between Patton and Logan, seeming to search for a reaction before relaxing when there was none.

“It’s brilliant to meet you all! Thanks so much for coming in when you did! You all deserve a patt-on the back!” Patton said gleefully.

Logan sighed insufferably, “I am Logan. Now that that is done, may we get on our journey?”

“Well, hold on there, eager beaver,” Thomas protested to Logan’s suffering. “What if we needed to go somewhere first?”

“Well, did you?” Logan asked, ready with a counter. “Just moments before, you were insistent on escorting Patton to his destination without mentioning an alternate route. I would assume that that would mean that you need not go anywhere else.”

“Well-” Thomas broke off, face conflicted. “No- we aren’t going anywhere else. Where are you headed?”

“The two of us are going to the Kingdom of Eiehde,” Logan replied promptly. “We’ve business to attend to there. That is all I shall say about that.”

Thomas rolled his eyes, “Remy, we can take a detour, yeah?”

“Oh, if the two of you need to go somewhere-” Remy cut Patton’s worry off with a lift of a finger. Remy took a prolonged sip of his drink as he looked at the two from Aowhea.

“No need, babes, we should’ve been on our way home anyways,” Remy flicked up his sunglasses and smirked. “Now will y’all tell us where in Eiehde you’re going? It’s a big place.”

“The castle,” Logan said plainly.

Thomas stared at him searchingly, and Patton tittered about nervously, chuckling, “Er- we should get goin’ now, don't cha think kiddos?”

Logan nodded stiffly, turning on his heel and going back to the carriage. Patton breathed out a sigh of relief before noticing how Thomas was still staring at Logan’s retreating back.

He took the reins out of his hands, hitching the two horses back to the carriage. “We best be gettin’ on our way, boys. Dark’s gonna be coming soon. We’ve got a few hours at best.”

Remy nodded, mounting the saddle of his horse again, “The next inn is a couple of miles away. If we leave now, then we’d get there just as the sun sets.”

Patton mustered up a smile, his nerves warning him of possible danger. He repressed it for now, soothing his worries with a placating thought of being more on guard.

“Well, let’s be off then,” Patton said.

Thomas looked at him worryingly, “Are you alright, Patton? Is there something bothering you?”

“No,” Patton immediately shook his head, “just- I don’t like those bandits creeping up on the path earlier, seems like they were banding up against me and my young charge.”

“Young?” Remy asked looking down at him with a raised brow, “Seems to be the same age as the rest of us.”

“Ah well,” Patton brushed it off with a smile, “I’m a Fatherly sort, anyone even the slightest bit younger than me are my kiddos! And well,” his voice softened, “we sorta grew up together. I can’t help but be protective.”

“How… sweet,” Thomas said with a smile, head tilted and eyes gentle.

Patton beamed at the two before climbing back up on the carriage. He grabbed the reins, looking expectantly at the other, “Well? Are we going yet?”

Remy responded by kicking the sides of his horse and speeding off. Thomas winced, rubbing the back of his neck, “Sorry about that, Remy’s a bit… impatient.”

“I’ll say,” Patton grinned. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roman's a bit of an idiot, isn't he? You're making a bad first impression to your future husband, Princey. Thanks for reading, and leave what you liked or disliked in the comment section down below!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four enter Eiehde. Logan makes a friend? Patton has a secret past? Thomas is a nerd!?

The ride was quiet and slightly tense. Patton was not soothed by the beating tattoo of the horses’ hooves beating into the ground, matching his own racing heart.

The sun was starting to set, the pink and orange peeking through the clouds. A chilling breeze brushed past his cheek, and his hands tightened on the leather reins.

“Let’s turn left here,” Remy said, speaking up for the first time in two hours. “There’ll be an inn and town about ten minutes away. If we stop tonight and rest, we’ll make it to Eiehde in a couple hours tomorrow.”

Patton nodded his assent, and Roman agreed, “Let’s. We’ve been riding for too long so far. I’m getting rather saddle sore.”

“What? You can’t handle a few hours of riding, Princess?” Remy smirked at him, and Thomas only shook his head, rolling his eyes.

Patton steered the carriage toward a well worn road, sand and gravel morphing into cemented concrete. A sign caught his attention, swinging prominently in the open.

“‘Gett Inn,’” Patton read. “They’ve got a vacancy. How about we head there, kiddos?”

“Splendid idea!” Thomas said eagerly, “Then come early morn we shall depart for the palace.”

“Mm,” Remy hummed suspiciously, and Patton tilted his head at him. Remy noticed his gaze, “I’m not sure if it’s a good thing we found this place so easily. What with all the bandits and schemers lately…”

Remy trailed off, but Thomas waved off his concern, “All of that had been dealt with, and most of the bandits attack traveling parties. We’re just staying one night, the most they can do is cheat us of our coin.”

“Thomas is right, kiddo. It is just one night, though if it does make you feel better, I’ll keep an eye out,” Patton offered with a reassuring grin.

Remy shook his head, “I don’t know if that does make me feel better. C’mon, let’s go.”

They parked in the designated spots for horses and carriages, and Logan looked around in confusion, furrowing his eyebrows, “This is not the castle Eiehde.”

Patton shook his head, “No, it’s not Lo.”

“But-”

“We’ll only be staying for one night, Lo, we’ll make it to Eiehde by high morning,” Patton answered him.

He nodded in understanding, and the four of them walked into the inn.

The bell above the door jingled cheerily, and an attendant turned to the open door, a jovial smile on their face, “Welcome! How may I help you today?”

“Do you have two rooms with two beds vacant?” Remy asked, looking around the lobby, bored.

“Let me see…” they rifled through a notebook before a smile broadened on their face. “Ah! Here we are! There are two more rooms, though they might be a bit cramped. Is that alright?”

“Fine,” Remy dismissed, “we’re only here for the night anyway.”

The host’s smile wavered for a minute at the tone before coming back in full force, “So if the stay will be overnight, there’ll be a free breakfast in the foyer. How will you be paying?”

“I’ve got this, boys,” Thomas said. He pulled out a small bag of coins and paid the shocked host easily.

“Er- I-I- Your rooms are right this way,” the host stuttered faintly. They handed the keys over to Thomas and stepped out from behind the desk, leading the quartet down a corridor.

They gestured toward two doors, “These two are yours, sirs. Er- here are your keys.”

They handed the keys over to Thomas, who brought their hand to his lips and kissing the back of it.

“Thank you, kind one,” Thomas thanked with grandeur, grabbing the keys from the shellshocked host. The host blushed as Thomas smiled at them kindly. Patton stifled a giggle at the pleading look the host gave him.

“Er- it’s- uh no problem,” they said with a nervous chuckle before promptly fleeing.

“Well, thanks for scaring them off,” Remy said with a smirk.

Thomas scowled at him, shaking his head, “C’mon Remy, we’re rooming together.”

“As his Highness says,” Remy mocked, giving him an exaggerated bow. Thomas gave him an exasperated sigh, pulling him into the other room and closing the door.

Patton turned to Logan, who had been watching the proceedings with an increasing confusion, and smiled, “Well, kiddo, seems we’re gonna be roomies!”

“In-indeed,” he fixed his glasses. “They are an… eclectic pair, aren’t they?”

“Yep!” Patton said. He opened the door with a quiet click, letting Logan walk in first. Closing the door, he asked Logan, “Do you want the bathroom first?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Logan called as he set the bags down on the respective beds.

  
“Of course, Highness.”

“Patton,” Logan warned with a hidden grin.

“Oops! I mean, Logan.” He grinned sweetly at the Prince who only shook his head as a response.

“I’ll shower now, Patton,” Logan called, making his way toward the bathroom.

Patton gave him a hum of affirmation, and Logan left. Waiting until he heard the shower turn on, Patton sat down heavily on the bed, his head in his hands.

He knew that it was a risky move trusting two complete strangers to lead them toward the castle, but there was something telling him to trust the two.

Well, perhaps not Remy so much, but Thomas more so. There was something earnest in the loud man, as if he was unable to betray anyone even if he was forced.

Patton knew that it was an incredibly risky decision and was most likely wrong as well, but his heart and his instincts were telling him to trust Thomas.

He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. There was a headache forming in the front of his head, and he groaned at it.

“Babes, you alright?” Remy’s quiet voice drew him to look up and blinked, slightly disoriented, at the blond in front of him.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he said, bringing his hand up to massage his temples. The ache lessened slightly, but the throbbing only heightened as Remy stepped closer.

“You don’t look fine,” Remy started cautiously, raising his hand to either check Patton or put it reassuringly on his shoulder.

Patton leaned away, uncomfortable, and straightened up, looking at Remy, “How did you come in anyway? The door was locked. I should know, I locked it.”

“There’s a conjoining door over there,” Remy nodded toward the left, and lo and behold there was a door fixed in the wall. Patton blinked, wondering why he hadn’t noticed, slightly berating himself for it. He didn’t even hear the door open.

“You still don’t look fine in my opinion, but I won’t push. Where’s Logan?”

“Taking a shower,” Patton grunted, trying not to sound disgruntled at the man, but it was proving to be difficult. The high pitched worry of his voice was grating on his ears, and Patton wanted to curl up and fall asleep.

“Well, alright then,” Remy murmured. Patton heard this time as the door opened with a quiet click, and for a small inn, the hinges didn’t even creak.

There was something about Remy that warned him of the man, and he knew that he was being unfair. There was just- something in his attitude or his tone or his knowing eyes that made Patton want to take the Prince and run back to Aowhea.

Maybe it was the ease at which he handled the bandits, the firmness that he had shut down any attempts for further looting.

Maybe it was how he hid behind his sunglasses, never showing his eyes in or outdoors.

Maybe Patton was being too paranoid and should just be grateful that Remy saved them without any more deaths.

There was just something about Remy that he didn't quite understand. He just couldn't for the life of him figure out what.

Patton closed his eyes, laying down, and let the quiet night of the motel lull him to sleep.

* * *

Logan walked out of the shower, tousling his hair dry. He froze in the doorway when he saw Patton snoring softly on one of the beds.

He sighed, wrapping the towel around his shoulders. Wandering around the room, he trailed his finger listlessly over the bookshelf, eyes glancing over the titles.

His eyes lit up at one potential title, pulling it off the shelf eagerly, “‘_The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes_,’” he read, cracking open the spine of the novel.

The dust that puffed up made him sneeze quietly, and he blinked, rubbing his nose with one hand. He settled, eyes scanning the first line, immediately immersing himself into the world.

“Oh! This is one of my favourite novels!” a voice made Logan yelp, jumping and clutching the novel to his chest.

“Oh! I apologize,” Thomas’s likewise surprised face morphed into remorse, his face close to Logan’s own. “I didn’t mean to surprise you, I had thought that you had heard the door open.”

“It’s- I accept your apology,” Logan said, hushed. Thomas furrowed his brows, and Logan flitted his eyes to the still snoring Patton before Thomas nodded in understanding.

His red hair had been left untied from its previous bun, and instead was tied loosely at the base of his neck, allowing a few strands in his face. If Logan was another man, he would even say that he was attractive.

“Have you read this before, my Prince?” Thomas asked, voice lowered.

Logan shook his head before the words caught up to him, “How did you know that I was a prince?”

Thomas’s eyes widened, and Logan couldn’t decipher whether in guilt or surprise. Thomas shook his head, grabbing Logan’s wrist and dragging him through the dividing door.

Logan followed with minimal protest, his curiosity winning through his self-preservation. Thomas closed the door behind the two of them, and Logan couldn’t help the spike of his heart at being alone with virtually a stranger.

He looked around, noticing the similarities of the two rooms, though with a darker colour scheme. Noting two empty beds, Logan looked at Thomas, “Where is your companion?”

“Remy went out to the tavern or something of the sort, said that he wanted time to cool off. If I’m lucky I’ll find him passed out in a stall, if not, well locked in the stockades for a night isn’t so bad.”

Logan frowned, “That doesn’t sound very-”

“That’s just Remy’s thing,” Thomas dismissed easily, flapping a hand out. “He’s been doing this for as long as I’ve known him.”

“What an… unconventional friendship,” Logan said slowly, uneasily.

Thomas shrugged, “Well, he isn’t a hindrance. More like a duckling that had imprinted on me, and one I grew attached to as well.”

“As long as it works, I suppose,” Logan said stiffly. Thomas shrugged again, sitting down with his back against the headboard of the bed. He nodded toward the vacant bed next to him, and Logan sat, uneasily, down, unsure of what Thomas wanted.

“Well? How do you find the novel?” His body language suggested boredom, even apathy, but his eyes sparkled with a bright curiosity that Logan couldn’t help but indulge.

“I actually have not had the opportunity to have read this particular novel as of yet-”

“What!” Thomas shot up, body and face betraying his indignant features. Logan hid a snicker of amusement, only allowing one eyebrow to quirk up in question.

“What is the matter with not having read this?”

“How can you have not read this masterpiece!” Thomas’s voice raised an octave, and Logan winced at the pitch, eyes flitting to the door and hoping the walls weren’t as thin as he thought.

“Sorry, sorry,” Thomas repeated, catching his eyes, “but how can you have not read this? It is the best novelizations of our century!”

“Is it?” Logan asked, keeping his tone bored, and he delighted in the redness and frustration that seemed to bloom in Thomas’s face.

“Of course it is! The mystery, the struggle, the tension and adventure! What’s not to love about it?”

“Well, I would have no idea, since, as I have stated before, that I have not read it yet,” Logan said.

“Argh! Give me that!” Thomas yanked the book out of Logan’s startled hands. He flipped furiously through the pages. Until at last, he seemed to stop, finding something that seemed to satisfy him.

“Here,” he shoved the book back into Logan’s hands, and Logan looked down curiously at the title.

“I thought that stories best started in the beginning, not in the middle,” Logan said.

“Bah!” Thomas dismissed, waving a hand. “Stories have a beginning, middle and end, but they're not necessarily in that order.”

“What?” Logan furrowed his eyebrows, frowning. “How can that be? Surely it would be more logical, not to mention more cohesive, to start at the beginning.”

“Alright, No-fun-ates,” Thomas drawled. “You don't have to read what I suggested, but I'm sure you'll find that if you did, you'll be thanking me.”

“For what?” Logan quirked his brow, “Having me start in the middle of a novel and having to reread the beginning to have any sort of sense of what's going on?”

Thomas squawked, a hand flying to his chest and the other flying to his forehead, “Well, I never- Look Mr Bore, what's that book called?”

Logan frowned, looking at the cover, “_The Mem_-”

“_The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes_!” Thomas exclaimed. “Meaning that it's more than one! Meaning that any fool could read any part of the novel and still wouldn't be confused.”

If anything, Thomas’s explanation made Logan's frown deepen. He opened his mouth to retort when Thomas yanked the book out of his hands again.

Scowling, Logan glared at the man in front of him, not liking the back and forth that continued to happen with the book.

“‘_The Adventure of the Naval Treaty_,” Thomas read aloud. He shifted slightly in an effort to get more comfortable and nodded for Logan to do the same.

Logan looked around, glancing at the vacant bed beside Thomas and gingerly sat down on it, crossing his legs and leaving his hands clasped upon his lap.

Thomas didn't say a word about his posture, instead choosing to continue to read aloud from the book.

Logan allowed himself to get lost in Thomas’s retelling. The deep voice made for a low, rumbling and calming tone that made Logan want to close his eyes and lose himself in it.

He was never much of an auditory person, much preferring to read and learn in the most common way of text and written work. However, Thomas’s voice was like smooth chocolate or sweet jam, and Logan was gone.

He found himself migrating toward Thomas, closer and closer to the intoxicating voice that made a detective and his companion all too real.

Closer and closer he went until Logan somehow found himself sitting on Thomas’s bed, next to him, and staring with wide eyes as his voice raised and emphasized certain parts, the fantasy almost coming to life under his steady storytelling.

He was enraptured, the storytelling a whole new experience that he learned and loved. Thomas had a way of capturing the tone and mood of the text, giving inflections and odd quirks to each other character.

Thomas’s own eyes were alight with amusement and enthusiasm as he regaled the story, his voice strong and steady.

Slowly, carefully, Logan felt his eyes drooping, his heart slowing to a steady beat, and knew that sleep was coming. He attempted to stay awake, wanting to find out exactly how Sherlock had figured out where the missing naval treaty was. But his need for sleep was winning, and he could feel his breaths coming out longer, his movements lethargic.

His head stooped down lower and lower, until his body rested on Thomas’s. If he were more awake, more attentive, he'd be jumping off the bed as if it had burned him.

Though he wasn't the only one, he had heard Thomas start to slur, his words coming out more in short, tired spurts. His head slumped down before righting himself, and the book had been sliding to lay flat on his chest.

The day's events were catching up to the both of them, and Logan closed his eyes, letting his breathing even out and falling into a deep slumber.

The last few things Logan heard was a small snore and the soft thud of the book falling on Thomas before he welcomed a blissful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is how you make friends. You lie about your name and then cuddle with them after having some storytime. Great example Roman. Thanks for reading, and comment what you liked or disliked down below!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remy broods too much, and Roman's first crush might be a little ill-advised when their first impression wasn't that good in the first place.

Remy woke with a raging headache, and he groaned pitifully as it worsened. He slowly sat up, a hand to the front of his head and eyes shut tight.

He groaned again at the disorientating change in position as his headache shifted to a dull throb. His stomach rolled, and he forced down the vomit he wanted to expel.

“God,” he croaked, feeling the dry, scratchiness of his throat. “I hate hangovers.”

His legs moved on their own accord as he shifted out of the hard… something he was on and stumbled his way toward the windows, the sunlight streaming in too much for him to handle, and shutting the curtains closed.

He braced himself on the window, covered by the thick cotton. Breaths coming out ragged, he gagged against the foul aftertaste of vomit and alcohol in his mouth, barely stopping it from coming out.

Remy took a shuddering breath and straightened up shakily, eyes squinting in the still too bright room. He shook his head to clear away the muddling thoughts, instantly regretting it when his headache worsened.

“You’re fine, you’re fine,” he muttered to himself, closing his eyes for another few moments.

He let out a shuddering breath, his headache dulling to a light throb, something he could handle. Walking to the bathroom, which was a feat in and of itself, he washed out the lingering aftertastes, spitting it out harshly, and took a drink of water.

Patton’s rumbling snore could’ve caused an earthquake with its ferocity, and Remy grimaced, the noise not helping his headache. Patton snorted, and Remy shot the unconscious man a small glare.

He shook his head, feeling less groggy after washing up.

Remy sighed, looking wistfully at the bed. He remembered seeing the barely there sun rays peeking in before he had closed the curtains.

There wasn't much time before Patton would wake up, meaning the other two would wake up as well.

He couldn't blame them, Patton was always an early riser, even when they were kids.

And wasn't that a thought? Had it only been ten years since the two of them had last seen each other?

Remy could still remember the wide smiles Patton always wore, the warm hugs and… his innocence.

Remy wasn't blind, even with his sunglasses. He could see the brittleness Patton had on, even with his bright smiles and cheery tune.

Something had happened since they were kids until now. But it wasn't like he and Patton were any closer than they were before.

Ever since… well he didn't like to think about that.

Remy couldn't blame Patton for not recognizing him. He was taller, blonder with shorter hair, and, well, manlier.

He still remembered Patton as the short, kind boy that wanted to greet his next door neighbor with cookies and a smile.

There was a pang in his heart as he remembered the past, two children with scraped knees and perpetual smiles on their faces.

Patton snorted, and then groaned, shifting on the bed. Remy froze, stuck in one place without knowing where to go.

The personal guard rustled with the bedsheets, slowly getting up with a stretch of his arms. He yawned, loud and unabashed, smacking his lips.

Rubbing his eyes, Remy watched, still frozen in place, as Patton turned to Remy with confusion.

“Remy?” he said groggily, squinting, and there was something in his eyes that Remy wished he knew what it meant. It looked like familiarity, but Remy knew that couldn't be true.

“Hey there, Patty-cake,” he said nervously, and he suddenly felt naked without his sunglasses covering his eyes.

Something flashed in Patton’s eyes, but Remy refused to let that slip sink in, “You can take the shower now, it's open. And not to be rude, but girl, you're rank.”

“Er-” Patton scrunched up his nose and nodded, “Alright. What time is it?”

“Don't you worry your pretty little head, doll, we have time to get to the palace. It's ass o'clock. Why the hell did you think it was a good time to wake me up now?”

“But you woke up first?” and bless his heart, Patton looked terribly confused and his eyes were still drooping.

“I did not come here to be slandered like this!” This was familiar territory, the over excessive reactions, the overreactions, the exaggerations, this he could handle.

“I- I'll just take that shower now then,” Patton mumbled, sleep still in his voice, and it's a testament to his weariness with how he hadn't said a single pun since he woke up.

Remy sighed as he watched the bathroom door close, crossing over the room and scooping up his sunglasses.

Putting them on, he felt a wave of relief wash over him, the security of the glasses boosting his confidence.

He wasn't ready for today. He still didn't know what Roman’s motive was for hiding his identity. All Remy knew was that he could not have Patton finding out who he really was.

As he stood, he nodded to himself and picked up his bag. His hand was on the doorknob as he took a deep breath in and exhaled, “Showtime.”

* * *

Roman snorted, groaning, and felt something heavy on his chest. He groaned again, lifting his left arm to scrub at his face.

He felt a bit grimy, his hair greasy and mouth smelling like death. He tried to sit up, pausing when there was a whine of discontent.

Blinking owlishly, Roman looked down to see a man with glasses skewed and pressing on his face. There were little snuffles of sleep, breath coming out in short bursts.

Roman felt a hesitant fondness bloom in his chest at this man who had just met. He didn’t really know what to think of him; he had seemed so cold and stoic the first moment.

He had walked into the room to talk to Patton, find out a little more of their venture to his kingdom, if they were the envoy from Eiehde.

And they were, when they introduced each other, Roman had a niggling suspicion, but he had to make sure. When Logan had inadvertently told him, he knew he was right.

Logan snuffled, cuddling closer to his chest. Roman quirked a small smile at his betrothed. And God, wasn’t that a thought?

Barely twenty three and already on the verge of getting married, Roman wasn’t sure if he regretted it or not.

But staring at this man, who he still had just met, he figured he could live with being in this arrangement. Yes, he was a hopeless romantic, but it was part of his name!

This man whose eyes lit up as Roman told the story of Sherlock Holmes, this man who seemed to be cold and aloof, but Roman can just tell that there was something hidden underneath that cold exterior, this man who tore apart Roman’s words and charms in a matter of seconds, that man that Roman felt like he was already falling in love with.

And it was only hours ago that he had met the man.

Roman couldn’t deny that Prince Logan was physically attractive. Lean, but still barely reaching Roman’s shoulders. Hair a curly mess that was attempted to be held back with a headband. Dark skin smooth as silk, silver-blue eyes that shimmered like the moon. God, Roman was so gay.

He knew, though, that not telling Logan and Patton his real name would send mixed signals when they would inevitably meet in the castle.

Roman just hoped that Logan would forgive him by the time they exchanged vows.

He moved, hoping to extract himself from Logan’s grips without waking the young prince. When he had gotten all but his arm out of the prince’s grip, he thought that he had gotten off scot-free.

Of course that was when Logan fluttered his eyes open, groaning and gripping tight to Roman’s sleeve. Roman froze, he was stuck. The virtual death grip that Logan had on his sleeve confined him in one place.

“Wha-?” Logan’s sleepy voice croaked out, and he looked at Roman with a hazy smile, something Roman wondered if he did without his sleep-addled brain.

“Terribly sorry, my Prince,” Roman murmured, the phrase twisting unfamiliarly on his tongue. “But I’m afraid that it’s morning and that we’ll have to leave soon.”

“Alright…” Logan said, trailing off back into sleep.

Roman smiled fondly but rolled his eyes, “My Prince, we must leave now if we want to make it to the palace of Eiehde.”

“C’n’t we jus’ sle’p?” Logan slurred, dazedly burrowing back into the mass of blankets.

“‘Fraid not, Prince,” and the royal title fell from his lips far easier than it had before. Roman gently poked Logan’s cheek, getting an annoyed snort in response.

Roman pulled out his last resort, yanking the blankets off Logan’s body. The other prince yelped at the sudden change in temperature, shooting upright.

“What the fuck!”

“Language, my Prince,” Roman tutted gleefully. “I told you we were on our way out. Be glad Remy didn’t wake you up. He would’ve dumped scalding hot coffee on you if you didn’t wake up at his first call.”

Logan squinted in the dark up at Roman, who was leaning over him. “Where are my glasses?”

“Here, you nerd,” Roman said, handing him his glasses. “Sunrise is barely peeking through. We’ll have to leave in less than an hour if we want to get there before teatime.”

The bespectacled man only groaned, rolling back onto his side and letting his glasses dig into his face. “Leave me alone.”

“No can do, my Prince.” Roman chuckled at his antics, smiling fondly at the man. “C’mon shower and stuff, and then we can have breakfast. There’s this jam that I love that I’m sure you will enjoy.”

“Jam?” Logan slurred sleepily, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He yawned, and Roman chuckled.

“Yes, jam.” Roman grabbed Logan’s hands, tugging him up. Logan groaned but blearily allowed Roman to drag him up and out of the bed, stumbling.

The hidden prince suppressed a smile at the sleepy prince, who was murmuring and yawning quite adorably might he add.

“Alright then, my prince, let’s get to it!” Roman said cheerfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? Character development? In my story? It's less likely than you think. Or is it more? Whatever. Thanks for reading, and leave a comment what you liked or disliked down below!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth comes out and is a harsh slam to the face.

Virgil watched as a carriage pulled up to the palace, hidden behind the curtains. He had felt anxious about the whole marriage arrangement ever since King Thomas had told him he had signed the papers.

Thomas didn’t know the kingdom of Aowhea as well as he did. They could read and research as much as they wanted, but Virgil would always know more.

Considering he grew up there.

Virgil remembered Emile, his sibling, and their protective nature was no match for the wickedness of Aowhea.

Though, that wasn’t very fair to the kingdom; the setting was lovely, fresh and blooming. It was the people that he hated.

Selfish and greedy. The citizens always thought for themselves, looking forward for a little more gold. Shrouded in their own darkness, clothes dark and eyes even darker, the people of Aowhea were only looking after themselves.

A kingdom full of backstabbers and thieves, Virgil hated that he had lived a life there.

A knock. Virgil turned away from the window. “Come in.”

“Babe, what’s up!” Remy crashed through Virgil’s door, canteen in hand and sunglasses adorned. He smelled faintly of alcohol and bad mead, but Virgil welcomed the familiar, dour smell.

“S’up,” Virgil nodded. He went back to the window, eyes casting worriedly around the castle square.

“Gurl, are you spying on the citizens?” Remy sounded scadelized as he strolled closer to Virgil until he was next to him.

“Of course not,” Virgil scoffed, he glanced back one last time before fixing his gaze back on Remy. “Report.”

Remy rolled his eyes, fixed his hair, saying, “We took a ride into the Fiawl Forest. It wasn’t much. His Royal Pratness also started singing, lamenting really, about how his life sucked.”

“So just typical Roman,” Virgil sighed in relief.

“Well….” Remy looked embarrassed, ducking his head.

“‘Well?” Virgil raised his brow, eyes wide. “That doesn’t sound like a good start. What happened? Who died? And if you killed anyone, was it discreet?”

“What, no!” Remy denied, confused at Virgil’s stress. “We met the Prince of Aowhea on our way home. He was in the midst of getting robbed by bandits.”

“What?!”

Remy winced, sunglasses slipping back over his eyes. “He’s fine. Me and the princess drove them away. Stayed at an inn. S’why we came back a day later sorta with the visiting prince.”

“Please tell me that Roman didn’t do anything stupid when he met the prince,” Virgil asked pleadingly, hands clasped in front of his face.

“No can do, gurl. Introduced himself as his dad, lied about his life, and I think fell in love with him all in the matter of a few hours.”

“I don’t know whether that’s worse or better.” Virgil ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve half a mind to yell at you for this.”

“Whoa,” Remy put his hands up in defense. “I didn’t tell his Royal Annoyance to lie. If anything it’s all his fault!”

“That’s why I have _half_ a mind to yell at you.” Virgil shook his head. “Listen, the carriage from Aowhea just came not five minutes ago. The Prince is expecting Roman or Thomas to be welcoming him into our kingdom. But now I’m pretty sure Roman’s not gonna be there, am I right?”

Remy winced, grimacing, “You’re probably right about that, Vee. Roman majorly clucked up introducing himself as Thomas. He’s probably going to run before he can welcome the Prince.”

Virgil sighed. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

* * *

Thomas glanced around anxiously. Roman was nowhere in sight, despite the fact that he had sworn to Thomas that he would be here to greet the visiting prince.

He sighed, the stifling robes and regalia on him felt nearly suffocating. Standing in the foyer of his palace waiting for his possible son-in-law felt like a fantastical dream.

There was an old dream of letting Roman have his chance at finding true love, but the kingdom had to come first.

The reality of his kingdom’s situation was that his borders were crumbling, his soldiers exhausted from the expense of protection and his people’s loyalties wavering.

Thomas knew that he had to do something drastic to save his kingdom and the home that he grew to love. Fortunately, the trade and military alliance with Aowhea had needed updating. Unfortunately, the king of Aowhea decided to give his son as a bride price to Thomas.

It had been... an unusual first meeting to say the least.

_ **~25 years ago~** _

_The loud bustle of men cheering and drinks clinking was grating on Thomas’s ears._

_Thomas grit his teeth, pulling his hood down further to hide his facet and stifle the noise as best as possible._

_He didn't want to be here. Not in this pub with its cramped spaces and squalid manner. But he had to._

_This was where the crowned prince of Aowhea was always rumoured to be at night. A tiny pub saturated with mead and men._

_Thomas needed to get a glimpse of him, to know what sort of man Prince Ernst was so that their alliance with their kingdoms could still remain._

_Perhaps it was underhanded of him to go undercover without anyone knowing, but he was already in the kingdom. Why not take advantage of this opportunity?_

_Someone slammed their mug on the table, and Thomas was acutely reminded of how much he hated pubs._

_The patrons were loud and unruly, a literal brawl happening in one corner of the room._

_Thomas’s skin was crawling, unseen dirt sinking into his skin and seeping into him, making him want to claw at himself._

_A booming laugh to his right made him jump, knocking into lukewarm mead and soaking into his boots._

_He raised his head, an apology ready on the tip of his tongue when he was met with two different coloured eyes seeming to stare into his soul._

_Thomas didn't know how to form words. His ability to speak lost as he stared at the most gorgeous man he had ever seen. Wow, Thomas was very, very gay._

_He was tall, that was the second thing Thomas noticed. Tall, dark hair, dark skin, strong build with mouthwatering muscles and a jaw that could cut glass._

_The blue overcoat had gold outlines on it, hemmed to shimmer every time he moved, reflecting off the dim lights of the pub._

_“My apologies,” the man said, words syrupy sweet and lilting. His accent got more pronounced, “I didn't mean to bump into you, darling.”_

_“That's not okay! It's your fault!” Thomas blurted out._

_The most gorgeous man Thomas had ever met only delicately raised an eyebrow. God, Thomas could feel his cheeks burning a bright red at his admission._

_“I- I mean you're a problem! It's not fine! Shit!”_

_A grin curled the edges of the most gorgeous man Thomas had ever met’s lips._

_“What a dirty mouth for a rather rude man.” The grin turned into a wicked smirk. “However shall you pay me back for these insults?”_

_“I'm sorry!” Thomas squeaked, cheeks darkening even further. The pub felt distant, his ears ringing and the man in front of him was starting to get blurry._

_There was a flash of something in the yellow and brown eyes that Thomas didn't even try to decipher._

_A hand rested heavily on his shoulder, and Thomas barely reacted._

_He allowed the gorgeous man to steer him out of the pub, distantly hearing him say some words he couldn't make out._

_There was a tidal wave of noise, stretching his mind, and Thomas screwed his eyes shut tight, trying to block it._

_His head felt heavy and his mind detached. Ringing in his ears that echoed way too loudly for his taste._

_Something squeezed him. He didn't know what._

_There was another squeeze, this time somewhere else._

_How could people hear with everything this loud?_

_A rhythmic squeezing started up, and Thomas slowly became aware that his hand was the thing being squeezed._

_Hesitantly, he squeezed back. A stronger reaction was returned, and awareness slowly came back to him._

_Thomas was met with two different worried coloured eyes._

_“Are you alright?” the man asked, Thomas distantly realized that he hadn't let go of his hand. <strike>Maybe he didn't want to.</strike>_

_“Fine! Just fine!” Thomas said, high pitched._

_A low chuckle and Thomas wanted to melt, “That's good. You had me worried there.”_

_“It's fine!” Because Thomas apparently didn't know how to say anything else in the presence of this man without making a fool out of himself._

_A smirk this time, and Thomas had to actively suppress a shiver. “I'm Damocles, and you are?”_

_“Single!” the words flew out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Luckily, the man- Damocles- didn't say anything except raise his brow, amused._

_“I mean- Cyril,” Thomas said, remembering the last minute that it probably wasn't a good idea to give his real name out, no matter how common._

_Damocles lifted Thomas’s hand up, brushing the barest kiss against his knuckles and purring, “A pleasure.”_

_Thomas thought his face couldn't get anymore red._

~

Thomas had thankfully recovered since that first encounter with the now King Ernst of Aowhea.

An unlikely friendship had blossomed between the two Crown Princes, one that Thomas didn’t even realize he needed.

Ernst had always seemed so organized, well-adjusted, a feat Thomas could barely manage.

When he had last visited Ernst half a decade ago….

Thomas broke out of his musings by the heavy castle doors groaning open. He looked up, feeling every ounce of nerves well up inside him.

Regardless of the fact that the second prince of Aowhea was a child and twenty years his junior, Thomas had heard the rumours of Prince Logan’s cold and calculating ways. He knew that if Aowhea didn’t like Eiehde, his kingdom would be doomed.

Thomas stood, footsteps feeling heavy as he walked down from his throne to greet the prince. A fixed smile on his face and one more deep breath.

“Announcing His Royal Highness Prince Logan Wysteria of Aowhea!”

The King of Eiehde kept his head up high, letting a cool mask slip over his face. The doors opening were heavy, groaning as it opened.

Thomas’s first thought of the Prince was young, very young. The boy, for he could hardly be called a man, strode forward, head held high, pride oozing from his stance.

He was slight, the clack of his heeled boots in the foyer made it known that he was shorter than seen. His dark skin complemented the blue garments he was wearing, a trailing black coat behind him and another man trailing behind him.

The Prince reached Thomas, bowing, “Your Majesty.”

Thomas was frozen. He had married his son off to a boy, a child. Someone who shouldn’t be shouldering the responsibilities of a kingdom.

A small cough, and Thomas plastered on another smile. “Rise, my boy, for we shall be family from henceforth. No need for such formalities between family.”

The Prince- Logan, Thomas reminded himself, for he wasn’t joking, they _will_ be family by the month’s end- straightened, a fixed smile on his face as if he didn’t know quite how to smile and instead lifted the edges of his lips.

“Of course, your Majesty, if I may, where is his Highness Prince Roman?” Logan inquired cooly. The slight poison of his words were barely detectable, yet Thomas still winced.

It was just like Roman to break a promise on such an important visit. Well, it couldn’t be helped.

“His Royal Highness was on an embassy to Hevewnoi.” Virgil smoothly intercepted, taking control over the situation as Thomas stood there, frozen. “His return should’ve been yesterday, but there are situations we can’t control.”

“I see.” It was clear that the Prince did not see. Thomas hoped the boy could not see how unnerved he was right now. “Well, I shall overlook it. These situations cannot be helped.”

Thomas let out what he hoped was an inaudible sigh of relief. “I’m sure you’re tired, your Highness. We shall let you retire to your quarters before dining for supper.”

Logan inclined his head in understanding. Thomas waved a hand to one of the guards, “Kai shall show you and your guard to your quarters.”

Kai bowed his head in agreement, stepping toward the hallway where the living quarters were and the other two quickly followed after him.

Thomas’ shoulders sank, that had not been what he was expecting.

* * *

Roman was hiding.

He was hiding, had been for the past two weeks or so, and he wasn’t feeling an ounce of shame.

Okay, maybe a bit of shame. He was a knight after all. Captain of the Royal Guard and everything.

He had faced things from a Dragon Witch, Manticore-Chimera, to even a Hydra-Griffin. He was brave, dammit. Brave, courageous, and not to mention handsome.

So why was Roman hiding in the servants’ quarters like a coward? Because the very idea of facing the Prince from Aowhea was so damn terrifying to him. It wasn’t even like there was anything physically intimidating about him. It was outrageous for Roman to even be scared of the other.

When he first saw the Prince, he couldn’t help but think that _that was whom he was marrying_?

He certainly didn’t think that Prince Logan was suitable to be Prince Consort of Eiedhe. There didn’t seem to be anything special to him. He was more contrary than anything, failing to respond to Roman’s charms.

Well, Roman could also concede to the fact that Roman hadn’t exactly done much to charm Prince Logan either. So he supposed that Logan had a valid reason not to like him.

Gods above, that was so stupid of him to introduce himself as his own Father. Why, oh why, did he happen to meet the Prince on his journey home? Now he couldn’t ever face the other Prince again.

“My Prince,” a gentle voice knocked him out of his thoughts. Roman opened his eyes to see the concerned face of Leo staring at him.

“Yes?” Roman winced at his scratchy voice, clearing it. “What is it, Leo?”

“It’s time for dinner, your Highness.”

“I’m not hungry,” Roman said, rolling over and pulling a blanket over his head. Roman felt slightly guilty hiding in Leo’s bed and subsequently taking over his room, but right now he just wanted to disappear and not have to see anyone again.

“Okay,” Leo said slowly, and Roman felt the disapproval emanating from the gentle man. “If I may, your Highness, why are you hiding in my room?”

“No reason,” Roman mumbled into the bedsheets.

“Of course, and it doesn’t have anything to do with the visiting Prince and your husband to be, yes?”

“What!” Roman shot up, blankets flying and face red. “This has nothing to do with Logan.”

“Mmm, _Logan_ now is it…?” Leo said, and Roman shot him a dark look that made him grin, “Of course it doesn’t. So, again, why are you hiding in my room when you have a perfectly fine room yourself?”

Roman flushed a deeper red, “I just don’t want….”

“You’re scared,” Leo grinned in realization. “Crown Prince Roman of Eiehde, defeater of the Dragon Witch and Conqueror of the Nine Isles is _scared_.”

“I am not!” Roman screeched, shooting up to his feet and stalking toward Leo. “Lies and slander! I am not scared of a simple Prince.”

“Good,” Leo said simply. “Then you can meet the Prince for dinner and be_ not scared_ out of my rooms. Now, shoo.”

Leo had, without Roman realizing, opened the door and pushed Roman out into the deserted hallway.

Roman blinked before he cursed Leo for exiling him from his hiding place. He walked forward, not really knowing where he was going.

He stuck his hands in his pockets, head up and staring at the brick ceiling. The hustle and bustle of the servants was soothing, a buzzing background noise as he walked.

He nodded distractedly at the scattered greetings as he strode forward in the hallways. Roman wasn’t scared of the Prince, but he was scared. Well not of him, but more of falling_ in love_ with him.

He hadn’t wanted his first love to be the result of an arranged marriage. He wanted something something romantic, something straight out of a fairy tale if possible.

Bumping into the person of his dreams as he was in the palace plaza, helping the person pick their things up, meeting them in the forest as they were singing their heart out. Something romantic and sweet.

Well, he supposed that he couldn’t always get what he wished for, no matter how much he whinged.

There wasn’t anything inherently wrong with the other Prince. Roman still admitted that the man was handsome, of course not as much as him, but still very handsome.

“Oof!” a voice exclaimed, and Roman stepped back, eyes widening as it landed on familiar curly, black hair. He wasn’t supposed to be here! Roman was _hiding_ from him for goodness’ sake.

“Pardon me, I was-” Prince Logan cut himself off as he seemed to realize that it was Roman he was talking to.

“Thomas,” Logan said, voice set in a tone that Roman wasn’t sure he liked. “Thank the Lady I found someone I recognize. Would you mind showing me to the palace library? I asked for directions, but I can’t seem to make heads or tails of the turns.”

“Of course,” Roman found himself automatically saying. “If you would follow me.”

He held out his elbow, allowing for the Prince to slide his arm securely in the crook of his elbow, and Roman walked forward with the Prince following next to him.

“Have you had dinner yet, your Highness?” Roman said for lack of anything else to say.

Logan inclined his head, “Yes, though I am a little disappointed that Prince Roman wasn’t there to greet or dine with us again. His Majesty, the King, had many things to say about that _again_.”

Roman winced, imagining the onslaught of reprimands his Father would give him after missing yet another dinner with his Intended.

“Though I can’t help but be relieved,” Logan continued as they reached the library. “I’ve heard and read many things about the Prince, and I don’t know what to do if I ever met him formally.”

There was a peculiar tone in how the Prince phrased that, but Roman wasn’t as interested in that.

“What have you heard?” Roman asked. His heart stuck in his throat, a pain that took hold of his body and made him want to run and hide from those sharp, blue eyes.

Logan had put his hand on the doorknob before he looked him over, eyes roaming and scanning him up and down. Roman could hear the blood rushing in his ears as he waited for Logan’s next words, as if he was on trial and Logan was the executioner.

“That Prince Roman was charming.”

That didn’t sound nearly as bad as he thought it would be.

“And vapid, arrogant, pig-headed and a _liar_.”

Wait, what?

Roman stopped in his tracks, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “Wh-what do you mean, your Highness?”

“Oh, what kind of fool do you take me for, _Thomas_? Word travels quickly after two weeks, especially in a castle surrounded by your work. Did you honestly think I wouldn’t find out?”

Roman couldn’t move. His thoughts were a mess, a storm in his mind.

Prince Logan opened the door to the library. “I can see that you didn’t. Thank you for leading me toward the library. Good day, _Prince Roman_.”

He slammed the door shut as Roman was left blinking outside the library doors.

“What- what just happened?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the truth is out and resentment is clear in the air. That does not bode well for Prince Roman, who was a bit of an idiot to avoid his fiance for like two weeks. What the hey Roman? Thanks for reading, and leave a comment down in the section below!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Logan exposing Roman's lies. Who knew Remy was so well educated? Patton meets a purple clad stranger and falls in love.

Logan was angry.

No, no he wasn’t just _angry_. He was _seething_.

How dare-? How dare Prince Roman take him for the fool? How dare that vapid Prince think he was stupid enough to not realize that he was a Prince?

Did he seem that stupid? Unobservant?

He was Prince Logan of Aowhea, nine doctorates under his belt, a tenth on its way soon. He wasn’t _stupid_.

A little lost on social interaction, but that had nothing to do with this dishonourable action from the Crown Prince no less!

Logan would’ve thought that Prince Roman would have more decorum than that.

He clenched his hands, feeling his chest heaving in anger at the deceit that the Prince pulled over him.

He needed, he needed- What? What did he need?

He needed to quiet the storm in his mind. He needed to read, to write, something to quiet the maelstrom of thoughts whirling in his mind right now.

Logan scrambled away from the door, staggering forward in the room. The familiar smell of books calmed him somewhat, ink and paper overwhelming his senses in all the right ways.

The giant bookshelves towered over him, sunlight soaking in the multitude of book covers and loose leaves in between pages.

He breathed in deeply, a nostalgic familiarity surrounding him.

Logan could feel his heartbeat slow, the anger and betrayal he felt lowering to a simmer.

He needed something to do before his anger got the better of him.

Walking forward, he trailed his fingers over all of the spines, some of them worn with age and love. A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips, he pulled down one of the books, a leather-brown cover embossed in gold.

Opening it made the spine crackle with age, yellow pages wearing away. The poems immediately caught his eye, and he stumbled backward, falling into a plush, leather chair, eyes voraciously soaking up each and every word.

He didn’t even realize that he was finished with the book until he turned a page and met with a yellow blankness.

“That one is one of my favourites too,” a voice said.

Logan blinked and was met with a shock of blonde hair, thermos in hand. Remy was leant against one of the tables, sipping his drink as he gazed down at Logan.

The Prince scowled, standing up abruptly with his fingers tapping against the cover of the leather book. “I suppose you’re here to also lie about your name, or apologize in your Prince’s stead.”

“Psh, nah, gurl, that Royal Prat had it coming for him. And my name really is Remy, sweetcheeks.” Remy smirked, winking as Logan turned red.

“That is no way to address someone of higher status than you.” Logan chided, tucking the book under his arm. He walked toward the bookshelf again, trailing his fingers over the familiar, yet unfamiliar, books.

“Does it seem like I care, gurl?”

“I am a man.” Logan said confusedly.

“Doesn’t stop me from calling you gurl.”

“Please don’t,” a squirming discomfort rising up in him. “I am uncomfortable with that.”

“I-” Remy blinked, sunglasses sliding down to reveal surprised green eyes. “Alright.”

“Thank you.” Logan said softly. He returned the book to its proper place, pulling out another book by a similar author. He sat down to read it again, feeling Remy’s intense stare boring into him.

“Did you need something, Remy?” he asked, still reading.

“Is this your first time reading those books?”

Logan startled, “How did you know?”

“Your eyes widened upon the very first page, and you stumbled back in that chair without breaking eye contact with the book.”

“I suppose I wasn’t very subtle about it. Yes, this is my first time reading these books. Aowhea doesn’t focus much on the fiction part of the world, more the realistic.”

Remy hummed noncommittally. “What do you think of the poems?” Remy asked, setting his drink down.

Logan looked up to see sincerity in those eyes. He pursed his lips, closing the book softly after marking his place. “I think… that the author is lonely, expressing his words rhythmically. Longing for love, companionship, someone to meet him where he’s at.”

“Why do you say he?”

“What do you mean?”

Remy nodded at the bookshelf, “That author. Why do you think that the author of those poems is a he? Is there something about the poems that feel masculine?”

“Gender is a spectrum and open to interpretation,” Logan started. “If the author is a male, female or in between, that isn’t any of my business.”

Remy pursed his lips at that noncommittal answer, “Okay. Which one was your favourite?”

“I don’t know.”

“You can’t just not know.”

“I can and I don’t. All the poems have their own sense of beauty, asking me to pick a favourite is like asking me which of my body parts I prefer the most.”

“My personal favourite,” Remy said, “is the one titled ‘Longing’. There’s something about the piece that makes it more than just longing, like hoping or dreaming for a new perspective.”

“Perhaps,” Logan tilted his head to concede, “I’d have to read it again to see what you mean.”

“Remy!” a bellow came from outside the library doors.

“Ah, that’s my cue.”

The doors burst open, and Remy grabbed his cup, bringing it up to salute Logan and slipped away behind one of the bookshelves.

Logan blinked when a man well-dressed in purple and black stomped forward. “Ah, pardon me, your Highness, I don’t suppose you’ve seen an idiot blond here, have you?”

“I- I don’t know?” Logan said, voice cracking with unsurety.

“I suppose that was too specific,” the other muttered. “No matter, I’ll find him sometime soon. Good day, your Highness.”

He tipped his head in farewell, and Logan waved a hand in bewilderment.

Logan stared down at the book in his hands. This castle is much more lively than at home.

The doors burst open again. “Remy!!”

“You can’t catch me, Virgey!” Remy cackled.

Much, _much_ more lively.

* * *

Patton was slightly lost. Literally, he meant. Though, he supposed he was lost figuratively as well.

He had meant to go to the training grounds after he had dropped off Logan and his luggage, but then he had gotten sidetracked helping a few of the servants carrying loads in. And then he had gotten even more sidetracked looking for Logan.

The castle in Eiehde was vastly different from the one in Aowhea. Eiedhe’s castle seemed _quaint_ compared to this one. The walls were bricks piled high, stone carved out in a way that was fortifying and beautiful all at once.

Intricate carvings in all the stones, words and pictures in all of the walls. Not to mention the mosaics that became of the windows. Rows and rows of coloured glass artfully pieced together to create scenes that would make anyone cry.

The draperies that usually lined the windows were tied tight to the side, letting beautiful streams of sun to shine down the hallways. The hallways seemed to be double the size of his home country's.

The places and people seemed to be big and extravagant, reflecting the monarch in flattery. Dozens of little machines, artworks and canvases from unremarkable names to household idols ranged across the halls.

But the halls were confusing and wide and long and winding. Patton had been here for over two weeks and he still wasn’t sure where the training grounds really were. He was sure that he was supposed to turn left at the Griffin’s head. Or was it a right?

“Um, excuse me?” he tapped one of the servant’s shoulders softly, grabbing their attention. They stopped, humming at him and tapping their foot impatiently. Their clothes were tight and wrapped around him, leather pants clinging to their legs.

Patton couldn’t quite tell their gender and just went with gender neutral instead.

They were just about taller than him by a few inches, eyes brown and narrowed at him. They were carrying a platter filled with cups and vials, some of them sloshing when they had turned to Patton.

“Well, um, can you- uh, tell me...?” he stammered, unable to finish.

"What need?" They grumbled in a thick accent, streaks of grey covered their head. Though there were a few prominent in their bangs, scowl set to reveal a golden tooth and yellowing teeth.

Their face was wrapped in cloth, shielding most of their face besides the eyes and mouth, nose covered. Head wrapped in the cloth enough to hold their hair up but still revealed tufts of hair.

Patton was frozen. There was something about this unfamiliar environment, the hustle and bustle about it, that made his senses overload. Usually he was great in situations like these, battle instincts and adrenaline working seamlessly together as he took control of the situation.

But people were never his strong suit. He learned to smile, to appease, to nod his head. But he never learned to listen, to talk, to not be awkward.

He was a people person, but he wasn’t a people person, if that made any sense.

He had always tried his best, trying to love, comfort and appease other people. But people never liked him. In his orphanage days, kids were very cruel.

So he learned to smile and bear it. He saw in Aowhea how people were greedy and hated each other. He experienced it to a certain extent.

He never wanted anyone else to experience that.

Maybe that was why he joined the royal guard. Climbed up in ranks until he reached personal guard of the Prince. Learned to fight, to grit his teeth and bare it, to kill.

To protect.

He had never killed a person. There was never that much trouble in the kingdom to send him out for that. And he never would if he could do anything about it. But morals and life would always conflict.

He could only pray to the Lady that he will never kill.

The person he stopped burst into a tirade of annoyed lecturing, arms flailing and eyes dark with anger. It didn’t help Patton that they were speaking the kingdom’s own language instead of the common tongue.

His shoulders were tense, old instincts making him want to lash out. A smile was biting to be unleashed, so that he could at least get the angry person away from him.

“What’s wrong now?” A man just a bit shorter than him strode to his side, his kind brown eyes flashing in his direction before focussing on the other.

There was rapid fire of words batted between the newcomer and the person Patton had stopped on his way.

What limited knowledge he had of Eiehde’s language was practically nonexistent s the two talked.

The newcomer sent the other on their way with a fixed merry smile and a wave. His shoulders fell, and he grumbled under his breath.

“Um, sir, maybe you can help me?” Patton asked tentatively, smile hesitant.

“Hmm? Of course,” the man turned to give his full attention to him, and Patton’s breath caught in his throat.

The stranger was _breathtaking_.

Clothed in purple and black, his long-sleeved tunic was strangely tattered and sewed together that did not take away the appeal at all. His trousers were brown and another sweater tied around his waist.

His eyes were twinkling brown, mischievous and hiding as if he knew something Patton didn’t.

There were freckles everywhere, and it was like the man was kissed by the sun herself to have those beautiful kisses on his face.

“Are you alright?”

_By the Lady_, his accent was so cute! It was lilting slightly, deep yet bright at the same time. Slow and gravelly, as if he was trying to pronounce his words correctly.

“You are one of Aowhea's, yes?”

“Wha-? Er, yes, yes, that’s me! Patton, I am!” Patton rushed to reassure the man. “Do you speak the common tongue? We can talk in that if it’s easier for you.”

The man’s shoulders relaxed slightly, nodding his assent. “Thank you. I know enough of Aowhean to get by, but not enough for a full conversation. I’m Royal Advisor to the King, Virgil.”

“It’s gay,” Patton said, tongue twisting on the words ‘good’ and ‘okay’, and he cursed his ineptitude around handsome men. “I mean I’m gay- good! It’s good! You’re… good.”

“Good,” the man smiled in amusement. “Did you need something? I apologize for Chadworth’s brashness. But the welcoming dinner for your Prince is tonight, and everyone is harried to finish preparations.”

“Good Lady, that’s tonight?” Patton said, “But there was a welcoming committee the day we arrived.”

“Ah, but the official ceremony is tonight. For the senators and governors and everyone to welcome the Prince intended.”

“I do hope Logan was prepared for this,” Patton muttered under his breath. He knew that the Prince didn’t bring any formal party clothing. There had been no warning of there being _any_ party .

“Pardon?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing.”

“Alright then, I must be on my way. Preparations and all,” the man gave him a small salute and started to turn and leave.

“Wait!” Patton lurched forward and grabbed his sleeve.

The man flinched, hunching his shoulders, and Patton caught a glimpse of his brown eyes flickering in fear. “Yes?”

Patton cautiously let go, hands removing themselves slowly. “Will you please show me to the training grounds?”

The man’s smile this time was much more guarded, but Patton didn’t care. His next words made his smile widen and his day brighter. “Of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why? Thanks for reading, and leave a comment down below!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dress up Logan time! Also Roman gets a kick in the ass by a good friend.

Roman was humiliated.

And because of that he was hiding in Noble Joan’s rooms instead of Leo’s this time. Because he had decided an upgrade in hiding was the best decision in his twenty-three years of life.

“Roman, what the fuck?” Joan asked, staring at Roman’s body hidden in the blankets. “Care to tell me why the hell you’re hiding in my bed?”

Roman made a noise to try and answer them. He had hoped that he said ‘Nothing’, but it came out more as a ‘Nfmhm’.

“Doesn’t answer my question, dude.” They sat on the edge of the bed, hand hovering over Roman’s leg. “Are you sick or...?”

Roman uncovered his head, “I’m fine,” before immediately covering his head with the blankets again.

“_Right_, someone who’s fine would definitely hide their head under the covers like a baby,” Joan said dubiously, crossing their arms.

“Exactly, so leave me alone,” Roman said, trying to burrow under the covers even more.

“No can do, Princey,” they said, patting his leg. “The welcoming ceremony for your Prince Intended is tonight, and I think your valet is beside himself with worry trying to find you. No doubt you’re needed for a fitting.”

“Ernesto needs to cool his jets,” Roman muttered darkly.

“So do you,” Joan said, hands wrapping around Roman’s legs before yanking him clear off their bed.

Roman shrieked, trying to save himself from falling, but only succeeded in tumbling off the bed, tangled in blankets.

He glared at the Cheshire grin on Joan’s face, wanting nothing more than to punch their grin off their face.

Instead he slumped against the bed frame, blankets secure around his shoulders. A petulant pout was on his lips, and his shoulders hunched in as he vainly hugged himself in comfort.

Joan’s smile slid off their face, and Roman felt a small sort of happiness for wiping that shit-eating grin off their face before his black mood settled back.

“What’s wrong?” They asked, sliding down next to Roman, shoulder to shoulder.

“I messed up, Joan,” Roman admitted quietly.

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“No, Joan, I sincerely, seriously screwed up.” Roman took a deep breath before explaining to them what he did.

They whistled lowly when he finished, fixing him with a slightly impressed and disappointed look. “Wow, you _did_ fuck up.”

“Joan,” Roman whigned, hands shaking their arm slightly. “You’re supposed to cheer me up, not agree with me.”

“When did I _ever_ agree to that?”

“When you agreed to be friends with me,” Roman answered promptly.

“Well, damn, can I get a refund?” Joan snorted at the pathetic look Roman gave them before knocking his shoulder with theirs. “Relax, I’m pulling your leg. No need to get your panties in a twist.”

“My underwear is just fine, thank you very much,” Roman muttered.

“You know what I mean,” Joan said. “So you royally screwed up, what are you gonna do about it?”

“Hide in these blankets ‘til the day I die.” Roman said, already trying to burrow his head back into the covers.

“What, no. That’s not what I- Will you take those damned blankets off your head?” They wrenched the duvet off Roman’s head as he whinged and half-heartedly tried to reach for them back.

“Stop acting like a child, Roman.” Joan said sternly. “You’re the Crown Prince. You were coronated just a few months ago, and now your Intended is here. You _have_ to welcome him here, and you can’t blow this off like you did these past few weeks.”

“I know, Joan, I know.” Roman scowled, running a hand through his wavy hair and cursing when he tugged at a knot.

“But how can I show my face to him after I _lied_ to him for days. Not to mention having him find out via gossip and not me.”

“That’s your problem, not mine,” they shrugged, pulling them up much to the Prince’s protests. “Maybe do something to make it up to him. Flowers or some shit. People like flowers.”

They ushered him toward the door, pulling it open as Roman perked up, head tilted and hair falling in front of his eyes in thought. “You really think so?”

“No clue,” they pushed him out the door. “Goodbye and good luck,” and promptly shut the door in his face.

Roman blinked.

Then blinked again.

This was the third time that a door slammed in his face. This was becoming a habit.

But first, “Joan! Come _on_, Joan! Help me!” He pounded on the door furiously, hearing the muffled laughter behind the wood. “I can hear you laughing, you bastard!”

“Your Highness!” Roman paled as he heard Ernesto’s high pitched wail. He could hear the pounding of footsteps, and his feet were running before his mind could catch up.

Nothing against Ernesto, but his scrutiny and high regard for prim and proprietary could be so exhausting day in and day out. The man only talked about work, and made jokes about buttons.

_Buttons_, for Lady's sake. Could anyone get anymore dull?

“Your Highness!” came the screech again, and Roman quickened his pace.

His head was ducked, looking at his scurrying feet. Years of practice making it easy to weave in and out of servants’ ways as he tried to outrun the unusually quick valet, rounding the corner.

“Oof!”

He was met with a hard chest. Papers and books flew into the air, cutting through Roman’s face as he was met with startled blue eyes and a familiar cross face.

“_Your Highness_, thank you so much for creating this mess.” Prince Logan’s icy tone wasn’t hard to mistake, and Roman winced at that jab.

Hurriedly, he crouched down to gather all the loose leaf papers, carefully putting them into the inside of one of the books he picked up. Meticulously making sure that whatever papers he picked up did not have any creases in them.

Lady only knew how Prince Logan would react to his papers creased and folded.

Handing them back to Logan, he tried for a smile against the cold glare sent his way. “I’m sorry about that, My Prince.”

Logan didn’t respond, merely sidestepping him and walking away.

_“Your Highness_!” Ernesto’s voice was much closer this time.

Roman cursed, setting forward to run again. He could make it up to the Prince next time.

At the Welcoming Ball Ceremony.

Where they were to be announced as Intendeds.

Hopefully, Logan will be able to forgive him by the time they reach the altar.

Roman subconsciously brought up the icy glare, the cold blue eyes that bore into him and the sneer on Prince Logan’s lips. <strike>Beautiful, kissable lips</strike>.

Then again… he winced at the memory, maybe not.

* * *

“I don’t understand.”

“Your Highness, please,” a man with platinum blond hair sighed, exasperated. "Must I explain again? Your attendants have informed me that you haven't any formal clothes for the Welcoming Ball tonight. It's my job to tailor and fit you into proper clothes for the ball. Which is in a few hours now, might I add."

"No, I understood _that_. What I don't understand is why I need new clothes. I have formalwear."

Logan watched as the man, who was slightly taller than him, rested both hands over his face, letting out a long sigh and mumbling to himself.

He looked up again, and Logan's memory tickled with the name Tan, and said, "Well, your Highness, your attendants came to me and said that your formalwear was well…. How can I say this delicately?"

Tan looked him up and down, eyes scrutinizing and brow raised, "Your style is too simplistic. It lacks colour, style, basically everything.

"Now with my help, you're going to look _gorgeous_." Tan pulled out racks of clothes out of seemingly nowhere, and to Logan's embarrassment, the other attendants in the room started to strip him to his boxers.

Logan was bare to the world, and while Tan clicked his tongue, he hadn't made Logan stand naked in the room.

"Now what colours do you look good in," Tan mused, a finger on his lips.

"His Highness looks good in blue!" Someone chimed, and Logan whipped around to see Patton's beaming face.

The man was still dressed in casual wear, but the sheen of sweat could clearly be seen and bits of grime and dirt speckled his body.

But the smile on his face outshone the sun.

"You too, Patton?" Logan groaned, burying his face into his hands and feeling his face run hot in embarrassment.

Logan barely noticed as attendants started to take his measurements, and he allowed for his body to be moved this way and that.

"Highness, I'm just looking out for you!" He pouted, lips twitching, betraying a smile.

Logan's eyes narrowed. "You're the one who told Tan about my quote on quote 'lack of formalwear' aren't you?"

Patton at least had the good grace to look a _little_ guilty. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe."

Logan sighed, "It's alright, there's nothing to do about it now."

A loud smack startled them, and the two turned to Tan. There was a wicked smile on his face as he slapped the measuring tape in his hands.

"Oh, we're about to do something about it," Tan promised, diabolical gleam in his brown eyes.

Logan had never felt more like an experiment in his life. Tan had poked and prodded him with so many needles and tight clothing that Logan felt like he would burst with uncomfortableness.

He stood there-- like a porcelain doll-- being twisted and turned and forced to show off his body under Tan's critical gaze.

The man was merciless, putting him in outfit after outfit with barely space to breathe in between.

He would hem and haw at each style, stalking around him with eyes like a hawk.

After what felt like weeks of being stabbed and clucked at when he moved even remotely in the wrong direction, Tan finally clapped his hands, giddy smile stretched across his face.

"You look fantastic, darling."

Logan looked down, and. Wow. He had been expecting something fancy, reams of gold and silk or curlicues of lace.

But this?

This was not what he was expecting.

He was cloaked in blue, of course, Tan had taken note of Patton's comment, fitting it into his design.

It was a deep, luscious blue, the petticoat trailing nearly past his ankles. Black lace outlined the hem and edges with elegant patterns of Wysteria sewn into the fabric.

His tunic is sheer black, cut and angled to show off his chest. Logan balked at showing so much skin, but seeing Tan's evil eye he chose not to protest.

Hands reaching up to adjust his tie before falling limply at his side. There was no ascot or tie around his neck, making him feel oddly naked without it, lost without his shield.

His pants, fitted as they were, ran down his legs, just on the edge of too tight, extenuating his legs and other features.

All in all, he looked….

"Gorgeous."

Logan looked up sharply at that, spinning around to face the speaker. The word was spoken tenderly, reverent and breathless.

By a man he was angry with.

Prince Roman of Eiehde stood in the doorway of his room. He slowly walked inside, mutters and heads bowed from the servants as he got closer.

The Prince was wearing white, laced in golden fabrics. A sheer, white skirt that seemed to be sewn into his coattails trailing his legs.

Gold epaulettes on his jacket shoulders with red and gold thread sewn into the front covers of the jacket with little aster blossoms in the fabric. A red sash trailed from his right shoulder to his hip. Medals were pinned on his left jacket, right above his heart.

His pants were slack, mesh, fluttering about his legs in something akin to a dress. His hair tied up in a loose ponytail, disobedient brown-red curls flying about his face.

All in all, a very gender-ambiguous style of clothing for the Prince of Eiedhe.

"Your Highness," Logan said carefully from atop his pedestal. "What are you doing here?"

The anger he felt for the Prince wasn't as high as it had been earlier that day. It simmered in his stomach, the lie like lead.

Something flashed in the Prince's eyes that Logan couldn't decipher, but he could swear that it was pain and hurt in those red-brown eyes.

Roman straightened his back, his feet positioned scant few inches away from Logan. He held out his right hand, left fisted behind him resting on the small of his back.

"I am here to escort His Royal Highness of Aowhea, Prince Logan, to the Welcoming Ball."

Logan clenched his jaw. With that formal wording, Logan couldn't refuse lest he cause a scandal for refusing.

The two were of near equal status, but Logan was the guest here. Refusing would be an insult and a half that would mean tense conditions on his return.

He knew that he _had_ to accept the hand that the Prince was offering.

Daintily, he laid his hand atop of Roman's, suppressing a wince when he closed around it, and with Roman's help, stepped down from the pedestal.

Stepping down was a mistake. Logan was stood next to the man, and he could feel the heat emanating from the man himself.

Bringing back memories of their first meeting and subsequent… sleepover and cuddle session.

Fighting down a blush, Logan looked up at Prince Roman, instantly disliking the height difference between them. It was only a few inches at most, but he was still forced to look up at the man.

The close proximity was near stifling, but not so horrible.

Roman's hand was hot, warming his own. And reminded him that they were _still_ holding hands but surprisingly Logan found that he didn't want to let go.

His hand was dark against Roman, a stark contrast. He could feel the calloused blisters in the hard worked skin. Roman's hand practically enveloped Logan's, his hand feeling small and dainty.

It was overwhelming, different and awkward.

"Shall we take our leave?" Roman's low timbre reverberated within him, and Logan was close enough to practically feel the vibrations.

Logan barely suppressed a shiver, taking a moment to collect himself. "Yes… let us do so."

"Your Highness, wait."

Both men turned to look at Patton, who was holding up a light red and gold piece of fabric.

Patton smirked, fixing the ascot around Logan's neck. "There, now you can go. Bye bye, have fun!"

Logan rolled his eyes, but felt his heart stutter at the implication around his neck.

Roman raked his eyes over him, dark and dangerous. "Well?"

Logan nodded silently, the once protective piece of fabric choking him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are these chapters getting longer or is it just me? Thanks for reading, and leave a comment below!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil meets someone too good to be true. The two princes open the ball with a waltz. And Roman just knows he's going to have a headache by the end of the night.

Virgil was confused.

He had nearly strangled that Remy when it turned out he was the one that bleached his clothes white.

Because he thought that Virgil's wardrobe was bleak.

_Bleak_.

That was his preference. He wanted dark clothing because it was comfortable.

And no one could see blood stains on them.

But on his way back after throwing Remy to the horses, he had saw Chadworth in the hall, tense and ready to blow.

He sighed, knowing that he would have to clean up the mess if Chadworth had another one of his fits.

Strolling up to the pair, he muttered to Chadworth, "What's wrong now?"

"This loon's not talking!" Chadworth threw his arms up, voice gruff. "He's the one that stopped me in the middle of the hall, and just stood there, staring as if it was me who started it! I need to get to the kitchens and help Cook."

"Did you ask him? Not everyone's used to your version of kind, you know?" Virgil rolled his eyes.

"He's one of those Aowheans," Chadworth flapped his arms in explanation. "I don't know much Aowhean, so we've been at a bit of a standstill."

"You go on then," Virgil nodded his head at him. "I'll deal with it."

Chadworth grunted, stomping away. Virgil breathed out deeply through his nose, raking a hand down his face.

"Um, sir, maybe you can help me?" Virgil turned, only to have his breath knocked out of him.

The man was taller than him, but not overly so. An inch or so, at most. His hair was the brightest red Virgil had ever seen. His face was heart-shaped, his smile even moreso.

Freckles dotted his entire face, not a spot was seen without the markings. Unlike his own blemishes, this stranger’s was one of beauty. Enhancing his image of purity and innocence.

Virgil was immediately on guard.

This man was one of Aowhea’s. His old… home. He’d have to be wary not to let him catch Virgil off guard. Otherwise some sort of coup might take place or something. It would better to be on guard.

<strike>No matter how beautiful and sweet the man seemed to be. Virgil would only poison him anyway.</strike>

He didn’t seem to be dangerous though. His mouth was flapping open and closed, glasses dangling precariously on the tip of his nose.

Even if he was supposed to be vigilant, the man was still a guest. “Are you alright?” he asked in Aowhean carefully.

The language rolled off his tongue after years of disuse, and he hated the way it curled around his words like it used to, like he belonged with it.

When the man didn’t respond, Virgil furrowed his brows, pressing. “You are one of Aowhea's, yes?”

“Wha-? Er, yes, yes, that’s me! Patton, I am!” Patton rushed to reassure him. “Do you speak the common tongue? We can talk in that if it’s easier for you.”

Virgil untensed his shoulders slightly, glad not to be speaking it anymore. “Thank you. I know enough of Aowhean to get by, but not enough for a full conversation. I’m Royal Advisor to the King, Virgil.”

“It’s gay,” Patton said, and he immediately blanched at his own words, quickly trying to rectify his mistake. “I mean I’m gay- good! It’s good! You’re… good.”

“Good,” Virgil quirked a smile in amusement. Well, at least it wasn’t anything he had done. “Did you need something? I apologize for Chadworth’s brashness. But the welcoming dinner for your Prince is tonight, and everyone is harried to finish preparations.”

“Good Lady, that’s tonight?” The redhead said in alarm, “But there was a welcoming committee yesterday.”

“Ah, but the official ceremony is tonight.” Virgil knew too much about that. He was concentrating on not worrying about it, the politics that was no doubt going into play. “For the senators and governors and everyone else to welcome the Prince intended.”

Patton muttered something under his breath that Virgil didn’t catch in time. “Pardon?”

“Hmm?” Patton blinked, wide-eyed. “Oh, nothing.”

“Alright then," Virgil said slowly, hackles raised. “I must be on my way. Preparations and all,” He gave him a small salute and started to turn and leave.

“Wait!” Patton lurched forward and grabbed his sleeve.

Virgil flinched, hunching his shoulders. Memories flashed before eyes. Merchants and fruit sellers grabbing his sleeve and threatening to cut his arm off if he didn’t stop selling. He steadied himself, taking in a deep breath. “Yes?”

Patton cautiously let go, hands removing themselves slowly. “Will you please show me to the training grounds?”

Virgil flashed a practiced smile, teeth bared and mind more prepared. “Of course.”

He was not at all prepared for Patton to carefully grab his right hand, lacing it with his left. “So I don’t get lost, see?” He said in a clear and sweet voice.

“Al-alright,” Virgil stuttered, cursing his words for faltering.

Patton’s hand was warm and calloused. But they were smaller than his own. It was there and present, and it felt grounding.

Virgil didn’t know if he liked it.

<strike>He absolutely did like it.</strike>

“We’re here,” he announced abruptly, yanking his hand away from Patton when they turned a corner.

Knights and knights-in-training were hacking away at straw dummies. Grunts and groans emitting from them with every clang of swords. Squires rushing around to carry out tasks their masters told them to.

“Thank you, Lord Virgil!” Patton said brightly.

“V-Virgil is fine, Patton,” Virgil said, not knowing where that came from<strike> he was not supposed to get close, goddammit!</strike>

“Thank you, Virgil! It was sword of sweet of you to show me around!” he chirped.

Virgil blinked. What?

“What?” Virgil said, unsure if he heard right.

“You seemed rather squire-ly, but you’re very sweet to show me around.”

“Did- did you mean squirrely?”

“That’s what I said!” Patton beamed, not missing a beat. “Though I suppose that I was a bit of a dummy to think you wouldn’t notice the pun. Language differences, they can be so uncultural!”

Virgil snorted.

Patton cheered, “Yes! I wanted to tree you bark in laughter, but a snort would pork too, I guess.”

“Alright, alright,” Virgil allowed for small, genuine small to twist his lips upwards, the gesture slightly unfamiliar to him. “I do have to go now though. Goodbye, Patton.”

“Go to the Welcoming Ball with me,” Patton blurted out.

Virgil froze, looking to him, a little lost. Again with the surprises. He would go grey with shock if this kept happening.

“I-”

“We can just go as friends.” Patton was quick to reassure him. His hands were flapping up and down as his words rushed out in a panic. “_Just_ friends. I don’t really know anyone here. And all the other Aowheans have someone to go with. Andpleasedon’thatemeIcangonow_Okaybye_!”

He sighed, this was going to be troublesome. And he was _totally_ going to regret this. “Patton, wait.”

The redheaded knight squeaked, turning back around with tomato red cheeks. He covered his eyes with his hands, “Yes?”

“I’ll- I’ll go with you,” Virgil said, slightly pained.

“Really?” Patton peaked from behind his fingers, cerulean blue eyes crystal clear and hesitant.

“Really, really.”

“AW!” Patton looked about to leap, and Virgil braced himself for a hug. Only to not get any.

A hand gently rested itself on his upper arm, “We’ll have fun, Virgil. I can’t wait.”

With that, Patton jogged away with a jaunty wave. Immediately stripping his shirt off and grabbing a sword.

Virgil paled, scurrying away, but the image was burned into his retinas. <strike>Did Patton have to be so hot?</strike>

* * *

Ernesto had caught him.

Ernesto had caught him in the easiest way possible.

All because he had to help Jill with the water bucket.

Curse his good-naturedness!

“Now, now, Your Highness. Settle down,” Ernesto simpered. “We’re just going to get you fitted into your clothes, and then you’ll be off to the ball with your Prince Intended.”

Roman grumbled, crossing his arms across his chest. He’ll be poked and prodded with needles for hours, he easily translated.

A sharp whap on his arm caused him to yelp, rubbing the burn. “Behave!”

He looked up to see the pinched face of his governess. “Madame Lilia, what are you doing here?”

She looked at him over the rim of her crescent glasses. “Making sure you behave, of course.”

“Why, Madame! I am _offended_! I am _always_ on my best behaviour.”

“Yes, and I’m sure Ernesto chasing you down to get you into this room means you were on your best behaviour.” Her tone was wry, her face was unamused.

Roman winced, glaring at the man at his feet. “Really, Ernesto?” he muttered under his breath.

“Sorry, Your Highness,” the man mumbled absentmindedly off to the side, not sounding the least bit apologetic.

“Sure you are,” Roman grumbled.

“Enough,” Madame whacked him gently upside the head. “You’re to get fitted, and then to escort your Prince Intended personally to the doors of the ballroom. Absolutely no wandering off or meandering on this.”

“When do I ever not listen to you, Madame?” Roman smiled charmingly.

The Madame’s face was as black as her dress-suit. “Every damn day of your life.”

“Madame!” Roman’s gasp was mockingly scandalized.

She cracked a small grin, blue eyes twinkling. “Behave yourself, Your Highness.”

He was about to respond when his skin pinched, and he yelped, rubbing his arm. “What was that for?”

“Hand slipped,” Talyn, one of the other tailors, said flippantly.

“Sure it did,” Roman grumbled. He turned back towards the Madame. “Well? What is it that you’re really here for?”

The Madame’s eyes blanked over, blue eyes a mirror of coldness. “You need to take your position more seriously, Your Highness. Your lackadaisical manner with courtly order and duty may have been a thing of fun when you were younger, but that cannot be condoned any longer. Especially since you’re the _only_ heir left of Eiehde.

“You’re to wed in less than a month. And by then, your duties and meetings will only grow from there. No more running away.”

Roman rolled his eyes, “I didn’t ask for that. To be wed to a man I barely know.”

The Madame sneered slightly, “Not many people in life get the things you have, Highness. Enjoy it while you have it. You could be suffering in much worse. And don’t forget neither did the Prince of Aowhea ask to be wed.”

Roman narrowed his eyes, “Why have you really come here, Madame? I haven’t needed a governess since I was younger.”

“We need to talk about how you’re going to court your Intended,” she said, blunt as ever.

He froze, hands falling to his side before Talyn hit him. He brought them back up. “What? I thought that since the wedding was next month, I wouldn’t need to court him.”

“Of course you have to court him!” Her eyes were wide in disbelief and tone scolding. “Just because you’re arranged to be married doesn’t mean that you won’t follow procedure. You’ll need to prove to your Intended that you’re serious about this. That you’re willing to go through with this marriage.”

“But I’m _not_ willing to go through with this,” Roman muttered under his breath.

Madame Lilia yanked his ear, and he squealed in pain, head bent over to lessen the pain. “Listen here boy, you’re not too old for a boxing, you aren’t. You will court the Prince properly and courteously. You will go through with this marriage and bring peace to our people. Understand?”

“Yes, yes, Madame. I understand!” he yelped, tugging on her arm. She pulled away, and he pouted, massaging his reddening ear.

“Good,” she relaxed, arms folded over her chest. “Now what did you have in mind for your first gift?”

“Flowers?” Roman tried, hands thrown up to protect his face. “Not the face!”

“Idiot boy,” she chuckled fondly. “That’s a good first gift. A bit impersonal perhaps, but you’ll have chaperoned outings to get to know each other better.”

“We’ll have _what_?” he screeched, attendants covering their ears at the pitch.

“Really now, who has been preparing you?” she shook her head, unperturbed.

“No one! Absolutely no one! What’s going to happen next? Advisors watching our consummation of marriage?!”

She ignored his outburst. “Well then, I suppose the ball can be your first outing. Many will be there,” Madame Lilia mused, blue eyes mischievous.

“Madame!”

“Of course the two of you will open the ball with a traditional waltz,” she continued, ignoring him.

“_Madame_,” he stressed, getting more and more irate.

“Done,” Talyn said, standing up and looking at their work, pleased.

“And look at that, it’s time for you to escort your Intended to the ball,” the Madame said, snapping a watch closed.

“I swear-” Roman started before he was pushed out of the room.

“Chop chop, your Highness, your beloved awaits,” she grinned wickedly.

Roman blinked and found he was left in the hallway, alone and the door shut in his face. _Again_.

He groaned, burying his face in his hands. Madame Lilia and her conniving ways. Unloading all that information on him while he was getting fitted.

How rude.

But now he had to escort the other to the ball. While the Madame had made it seem like a suggestion, he knew that gleam in her eyes. If Roman didn’t listen to her, he’d have hell to pay.

“Your Highness?” a timid voice asked, “are you alright? Did you need something?”

“Hmm?” he brought his hands out of his face. “No, no, well, would you mind showing me where the Prince Logan is?”

“Of course!”

“Thank you, ah- Terrance, was it?”

He gasped, “The Prince knows my name,” starry-eyed.

Roman chuckled awkwardly, “Of course, I do. I make it a habit to know everyone who works in the palace.”

Terrance gasped again before smiling eagerly. “Come, come. I’ll take you to the Prince right away.”

“Thank you,” he nodded curtly.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, glad that Talyn remembered to add pockets this time. The last time they forgot, he threw a hissy fit.

Not one of his proudest moments.

Roman glanced down at his outfit, blown away by the amount of work Talyn must’ve put into this.

It was sheer white, mesh and silk combined. Red and white and gold weaving together in patterns and curlicues of aster flowers on the front. His medals pinned to his lapel. He glanced to his shoulders, golden epaulettes sewn in them.

There was a skirt!

He swayed his hips slightly side to side. A gentle piece of fabric swung around him gently.

He loved it! Talyn had really outdone themself. He made a mental note to increase their pay for this month.

“Here we are, Highness,” Terrance said, breaking him out of his reverie with an open door.

Roman started, nodding his head to the servant. “Thank you.”

He stepped in, fully expecting an irate man yelling at him to get out and braced himself.

But not well enough because damn.

The man in front of him quite literally took his breath away. He gulped in a deep breath when he realized that he was getting lightheaded from no oxygen getting to his brain.

The Prince was stood atop a small platform. His back was to Roman, so he could notice every detail without any interruption.

The man was an angel wrapped in darkness. And Roman had to chuckle at the colour choices. What an interesting dichotomy they made.

The suit, if it could really be called a suit, was sleek and dark blue. Coattails trailing to his ankles. Black lace outlined the hem and edges with elegant patterns of Wysteria sewn into the fabric.

It shimmered as the Prince moved.

Roman could barely keep himself from swooning. The man was just-

“Gorgeous.”

The aforementioned gorgeous man froze, back tense. He spun around, blue eyes wild and searching.

Roman walked forward slowly, knowing that the guarded expression was due to his first misdirection and fault.

He still couldn’t help but feel hurt at the wariness at his Intended. He had to fix this situation right away if they were ever going to succeed with this marriage.

Prince Logan’s eyes raked over his body, and Roman couldn’t stop himself from preening at the begrudging approval that flashed through his mind. At least he thought it was approval. The man was very hard to read.

“Your Highness,” the words were said carefully, as if he was diligently picking his words. “What are you doing here?”

The tone made it all too clear that Roman wasn’t wanted. The hurt doubled in his chest.

He straightened his back, arm held out. Well, he’d have to fix this right away. "I am here to escort His Royal Highness of Aowhea, Prince Logan, to the Welcoming Ball."

There was a tiny clench of Prince Logan’s jaw, a calm maelstrom of anger in his icy blue eyes. This was a challenge in propriety.

Roman knew this. For the Prince to decline would be a huge insult and immediate blacklist. Even in a room full of servants.

Roman threw down the gauntlet. Now it was only for Logan to accept.

Holding firm, it felt like ages before the Prince delicately put his hand into Roman’s, as if he was afraid of diseases.

He helped the man down the step, practically flush with Roman’s chest. Logan was shorter than him, top of his head reaching Roman’s mouth. His flop of black curls were neatly gelled together, and if Roman tried hard enough, he could smell the faint scent of parchment paper.

The shorter man was warm, emitting a feeling like a warm blanket wrapped around you in the cold.

He was lithe too, not the broadness that was Roman. If he tried, the man could probably be fully hidden behind Roman’s back.

His hand, too, was small and dainty. Roman could practically overlap it with one hand.

Was Roman’s heart supposed to be beating this fast?

“Shall we take our leave?” a voice, that Roman realized was his own, said, low and husky.

Roman felt the shiver Logan tried to suppress and did his best to fight down a smirk at that reaction, pride warm in his chest.

“Yes… let us do so.” Logan’s words were halting, coming out in intervals as if he was struggling to find the right words to say.

He and Roman turned, getting ready to depart.

“Your Highness, wait.”

They both turned to Patton holding up a red and gold piece of fabric.

Before either man could move, he had already tied the ascot around Prince Logan’s neck. “There, now you can go. Bye bye, have fun!"

Roman felt a thrill shoot up his spine, possession overwhelming his senses at seeing the other Prince with _his_ colours wrapped around his neck.

It was a heady feeling, and it nearly made his knees buckle. He was aware of how dark his eyes probably were, “Well?”

Roman saw Logan gulp before nodding jerkingly.

That wasn’t good. Logan wasn’t supposed to be _scared_ of him. They were going to be husbands in less than a month, for Lady’s sake.

Perhaps Madame Lilia was correct and he needed to step up his courting game. “You look wonderful in blue.”

The other Prince stiffened. “Thank. You.” His words came out stilted, haltingly. His face betrayed no emotion, but his eyes, Lady his eyes, they were so expressive. Even hidden behind his glasses, they told a story.

Wariness, caution, anger and bewilderment. At him, no doubt. He had lied to the Prince’s face, attempted no apology and was now escorting the man to the ball where they were to be announced as engaged.

No wonder the man looked sick to his stomach. Roman had done nothing to assure him that he would be a good husband.

“Would you do me the honour of being your first dance?” No need to say that they would have to open the first dance either way.”

“Of course,” the other said smoothly, hiding any emotions.

The doors opened to the ballroom, a grand and luscious room. Floors waxed to perfection. Windows and haunting, moonbeams streaming through the glass. Musicians positioned in the far corner, instruments primed and poised to play.

People were milling about. The official beginning of the ball hadn’t begun yet. Roman could recognize some senators and governors of his Father’s council lingering around, making small talk and playing the game that was politics.

His Father was sat at the head of the ballroom, where there was a long table filled with whom Roman supposed was very important people that he should know.

Two vacant spots were open at his Father’s right. He led Logan there immediately, eager to not get involved with politics.

He pulled out Logan’s chair, helping him into it. Logan shot him a look he didn’t know how to decipher. Roman gave him a shaky smile, hoping that he wasn’t screwing up again.

“Friends and guests!” His Father’s booming voice echoed in the hall, bouncing off corners and glass.

Roman tuned him out from years of habit. Whatever his Father said was the same as always. Welcoming the guests, hope for the future.

“And I thank you for the well wishes of my son and his Intended,” his Father said, and Roman glanced a look at Logan, who was looking confused with narrowed eyes.

“The celebrations will be in a moon’s time! By then, hopefully, my son has been well to do with his pursuing.” The King let out a small chuckle, titters ringing from the others.

Roman shot the crowd a dazzling smile and a small nod. A wave and a show of teeth was all it took for the crowd to relax again.

“Please enjoy this feast for the rest of the night! And my son and his Intended will be the first to open this ball, all in good will!”

Another smile and then Roman was on his feet, hand stretched for Logan who looked bewildered at the sight.

Roman shook his hand more insistently before Logan caught on, reaching out to take Roman’s hand.

They took centre stage of the floor, a comfortable space circling around them as if the other guests were afraid to step near them.

“I assume that you know how to dance, my Prince?” Roman asked when it seemed that Logan wasn’t going to do anything.

“Of course, Your Highness,” Logan shot him a hateful glare, more subdued than the one at the library. “I wasn’t raised without my manners. It was one of the first things I learned as well as telling the truth when introducing myself to other royalty.”

Roman held back a wince at that jab. That was well deserved. “Would you like to lead, or should I?”

“I’ll lead,” Logan said after a moment, glasses glinting in the candlelight.

He only nodded, sliding his hands into the correct position. Back straight, hands cupped but not strangling, feet spread slightly, toes down and heels up.

The music flowed between them, and Roman felt it speaking through him. He had always been one for music, taking up dance, violin and piano all as hobbies as a child.

It was a language all on its own, something that not every human could speak, but something they could all understand.

Hearts could break or heal with music. Tears would be shed when played right. Happiness was only one path he could follow.

He stepped back and forth melodically, following the notes of the story. Twist, turn, twirl, spin.

Logan was a formidable storyteller in his own right.

Logan’s notes were mechanical, but still pleasing. It was rhythmic and fell into a pattern. His own were more spontaneous, fitting in between the other Prince’s in every other beat.

_Da da da dum. Da da da dum. Hmm hmm hmm hmmmm._

A symphonious cacophony.

And just like that the set was over, and Roman was left blinking down at Logan. “You danced marvelously, my Prince.”

“Thank you. You were… adequate as well.”

That was the first compliment he had received from Logan. Huh, that warmth in his chest must be from the heat of the room. Yes, of course.

Logan fidgeted, and Roman remembered that they were still technically embraced. He let go abruptly, losing the warmth that seemed to follow Logan around.

“Go back to the table,” he found himself saying. At Logan’s confused look, he elaborated. “You look uncomfortable around here. Go back and sit down. I’ll make up some excuse, your stomach was hurting or something. If you truly find yourself uncomfortable, come find me. But try and stay until after the third set?”

Roman gave him an encouraging smile as Logan still stared at him as if he were alien. He nudged him back to the table, letting him sit back down.

Straightening his back, he smoothly swept in between a conversing lord and lady and asked him to dance.

He had a feeling that it was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Roman, you brought this upon yourself bud. But hey, some progress! Oh and the singing portion was supposed to be reminiscent of Cinderella's So This is Love. Thanks for reading and leave a comment down below!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drama stirs as Logan finds his heart wavering from anger to something else. Problems start to arise.

Logan couldn’t figure Prince Roman out at all. And it was starting to grate on his nerves.

He had thought that he had the Prince all figured out. That he was just another mindless brute. A prat with a large head. Someone whose ego couldn’t back up its weight.

He was finding that harder and harder to see.

The Prince had been disrespectful at their first meeting. Dismissing him and lying to him straight to his face.

And he went around the palace, hoping to confirm it. At first, he had been looking for him as Thomas, but some of the maids showed him a picture of the King instead of the man he knew, and he had felt red hot anger burn through him.

Asking for a photo of the Prince himself only confirmed his suspicions.

The burning anger was nearly impossible to sate. He had asked around for stories of the man. A charmer, making all swoon with a flash of a smile.

Charismatic too, knowing the right words to say in any given situation. A knight, Captain of the knights in fact. Something of a brute when battling with other fellow knights.

Pigheaded when it came to his food and the cleanliness of his room. Nitpicky about his appearance too, spending hours in the bath before he deemed himself ready to face the waking world.

But then, then another servant had told him about all the commissions that the Prince had ordered, Commissions that came from up and coming artists, names unknown to virtually anyone.

He had ridden out, looking for fresh blood. Bringing back artists by the boatload. He had asked them all to make a piece of artistry fit for a palace, free rein on all mediums, and allowed them _all_ to stay in the palace, paying all of them handsomely.

He had been incredibly helpful showing him the way to the library, but he had made no notion of looking like he was going to apologize to Logan for the deceit. He had waited as they were walking, not until he was at the library did Logan say anything.

And the look on his face was priceless. His thrill at vindication fulfilled at the moment.

Then Prince Roman had run into him again, throwing all his papers and books flying up into the air. Terribly rude. But then he had picked up his papers, apologized, made sure that none of them creased.

The Prince had complimented him on his outfit for the ball, and just the memory of it had him flushing.

Just moments before asking him if he wanted to lead or follow. Seeing how uncomfortable Logan was after the dance. Giving him a way out. Letting him sit down and not participate anymore than he wanted.

The Prince was a conundrum, a puzzle and an oxymoron all at once.

And Logan _hated_ that he couldn’t solve him.

But he also hated people touching him even more. The lady was latched onto him like a leech, cooing with blood stained lips and a condescending smile. His chest was tight, his clothes making him feel as if the room was sweltering.

Then a cool hand, “Excuse me, Lady Rebilta. Thank you for entertaining my ---” a word that Logan couldn’t quite translate, but it made the lady back off, and his skin could breathe again.

“I hate to cut this short, but we must be off. Secrets to share, love to be had, dances to _dance_,” Prince Roman winked at that, and the lady fanned herself with a mischievous smile, waving them off.

“I’m sorry about Lady Rebilta,” the Prince said suddenly, looking down at Logan. “She was always one of the more… trying parts of nobility. Are you alright?”

“I-” he blinked. Was he alright? Away from that touchy woman, he supposed he was. “Yes, yes, I am. Thank you, Your Highness.”

Something in the Prince’s eyes made him look put down, but it was gone in a flash, leaving Logan to wonder if he was imagining things.

“You made it to the fifth set,” Prince Roman was saying, “do you want to get out of here?”

Logan hesitated, proprietary demanding him to stay.

Something in his face must have made the Prince say, “It’s alright if you don’t want to. But I wanted to bring you to the garden. It’s just outside the doors there. You can easily come back here if you wanted.”

Looking back at the dancers, he heard the music winding down. The perfect chance to escape. The sweltering hot swarm of people, the relentless touching and small talk of politics, the _dancing_.

It was no wonder that he said, “Yes.”

Prince Roman’s eyes flashed in excitement, and he looked like he was going to grab Logan’s hands before he thought better of it. “Come on! Follow me!”

The music stopped, and people were leaving the dance floor. His Highness cut straight through the throng of people. Logan followed through hastily, making sure not to run into anyone.

It was a welcome relief to walk out of the glass doors to feel fresh, crisp air on his face.

“This way, my Prince,” Prince Roman said, waving. “The gardens are only just through here.”

Logan only shook his head at the unbridled glee in the Prince’s voice. He followed through twists and turns until he stepped through a cut arch of hedges, and his breath was taken away in a loud gasp.

Though dark, lanterns lit up the walkway, illuminating all types of flora and fauna. The assemblage of flora of all types of colour and style blooming all around him.

Flowers of red and gold and white were in multitude. But there were also purple and blue blossoms surrounding him.

The light of the lanterns were soft, giving all the flora a soft, reverent lighting. Casting rays of moonlight only enhanced that image, making the small opening of flowers seem like a soft haven.

“I hope this is pleasing to you, my Prince,” Prince Roman’s voice was quiet, reflecting the atmosphere of the setting itself. Quiet and fond and almost reverent.

Prince Roman stood, back toward Logan, in front of one of many groves of hedges of flowers. Arms clasped behind his back, back straight, head forward, gazing at the flower in front of him.

“I- it’s-” Logan’s tongue felt heavy. The Prince was showing him something that seemed highly private, personal, and he looked nearly vulnerable in the shining dim light of the lanterns.

“Has the great Prince Logan Wysteria of Aowhea been struck speechless?” Prince Roman’s teasing words broke his staring.

“Of course not!” He snapped, eyes starting to blaze with fury. “It’s- it’s just-” But he was still at a loss for words.

The place was magnificent, yes, but still somewhat cloaked in melancholy and love. He couldn’t quite describe it with words. Because doing so… doing so would bring down its value.

“Yes, that’s how I feel about it most days too,” Prince Roman nodded sagely, as if understanding his lack of words.

“If you’re playing me the fool-!”

Logan was cut off by a smile that was too sharp to be nice. “I mean, my Prince, that I understand when beauty is too much to put into simple words in the common tongue over even otherwise. It would sound too lackluster, _fake_ even to say the words outright.”

Prince Roman spun to meet his gaze, posture rimrod straight and smile frighteningly cold. “So, no, _Your Highness_, I am not ‘playing you the fool’ as you so suggested.”

“I-” Logan took a deep breath. He knew when he was being childish, when it was time to back down. Hearing his royal title said in Roman’s voice made him shiver. “I apologize for my impudence. I meant no offence.”

He bowed his head, making his words sound as sincere as he could make them.

There was a great sigh and footsteps came closer. “I- no. _I_ apologize. I brought you out here to get away from politics and other such nonsense. Not to rope you into another godsforsaken argument.”

A hand on his shoulder, light and ready to move. “I brought you here to see my garden.”

“Your… garden?” Logan asked, making brief eye contact with the other prince, meeting molten chocolate-lava eyes.

“This,” he made a grand, sweeping gesture with his arm, “is my pride and joy. Everything here was grown by my hand. All the plants and flowers and fruit grown and nurtured by Prince Roman himself.”

Said Prince gave a small bow, and Logan suppressed a smile at his antics. “What are some of the flora grown here? You’ve got a mighty many of them. I’m impressed.”

Prince Roman’s head whipped up so fast that Logan thought it might snap in two. The Prince’s eyes were sparkling, wide eyed and eager.

“The most I grow here are flowers because I love looking at the blossoms in the spring. They’re the loveliest things, vibrant and always full of colour. The asters are one of my favourites, and I have a variety around us. They’re the most common flower here in Eiehde. But the funny thing is our country’s flower is the wisteria and its purpling buds and flowers that droop down sprinkle blossoms _everywhere_. The gardeners _hate_ it. But I love them.

“Now _azaleas_, they are a _beast_ to maintain. They have to be in the right temperature, humidity and right acidity for the soil. Their soil has to be _moist_ but not soggy, otherwise they’re done for. And the water has to have a little vinegar added when I water it otherwise the proper acidity isn’t done and-”

Prince Roman abruptly cut himself off, teeth clacking shut with a painful sound. He had the most embarrassed expression on his face, ears glowing red against his tanned skin.

“I- I apologize. I hadn’t meant to bore you-”

“No, no!” Logan rushed to say, words falling out of his mouth without his meaning to. “I wasn’t the least bit bored. I had no idea that there was so much to do with garden keeping. It’s all very fascinating, I assure you.”

“I- Regardless, this wasn’t what I brought you out here for. Come, sit down. We’ll catch our death standing around here,” Prince Roman beckoned, ushering him over to a stone bench.

Logan hesitated before gently lowering himself down. None of them spoke, and Logan was afraid of breaking this easy silence, this quiet forever. His feet tapped unthinkingly, and Logan, in this quiet haven, didn’t feel the need to stop it.

“This used to be my Papa’s garden.” Prince Roman said, voice loaded with heavy memories. “He used to tend to this place everyday. Gloves and face covered in dirt, knee deep in soil. He was so _happy_ just tending to the blossoms around here. Me and my brot-”

Roman took a shuddering breath, voice breaking slightly. “Me and my brother would play here with him as he tended to the garden. Tossing around dirt and mud. Being all-around wrecks.”

Logan didn’t know what to say, instead scooting closer so that their thighs were touching. This- this was heavy stuff that Roman was revealing. He didn’t know what to make of it.

Why was Roman telling him this? Why here? Why now? Why tell him at all? He found that he wanted to know more about this Prince. That everlying mystery itching to be solved.

“That sounds like it was fun,” Logan said gently, carefully.

“It was,” Roman let out a harsh laugh. “It truly was.”

Another lapse in silence. And Logan wanted to ask his questions. Why tell him? What happened to his brother? His other Father? Why was he alone? Why did he bring Logan here if it was something so special.

“I’ve always liked flowers,” Roman admitted softly. “They were easier than people. Once you learn the right way to grow them, they’ll love you and thrive. Once you learn their language, they’ll never judge you for anything they say. They leave you once in a while, but they’ll always come back.”

Logan hesitated before barreling on. Roman laid his heart out, so Logan was going to meet him where he was going. “Did you know that flowers _do_ have their own language, their own certain symbolizations?”

“No. They do?” Roman’s eyes were wide with surprise and earnestness.

“Yes,” Logan nodded. “For example, the rue,” he went over to a small, yellow flower, looking at Roman in askance and getting a small nod, “represents regret, sorrow and repentance.”

He plucked the yellow blossom from its stem.

_I’m sorry. I misjudged you. I regret that._

“The pink tulip generally means good wishes, friendship, joyous occasions. And the daffodil means respect, chivalry, uncertainty and new beginnings.”

He wisely left out that the daffodil could also mean unrequited love and hope to return affections.

_I hope we can be friends. That there will be joyous occasions in the future. You gained my respect. But I don’t know if you’ll always have it. I hope that you’ll take this as a new beginning._

“The gladiolus,” he wavered over the pink buds before also grabbing a blossom, “means strength of character, honour and conviction.”

_What I’m offering you is honest. You have the conviction and stubbornest of a mule. But you’re softer than I realized. You’re stronger than I realized._

“And the pink rose,” his words were soft, Roman hanging on their every syllable, “the pink rose means gratitude, grace and joy.”

_Thank you for giving me another chance._

Logan turned around, handing the plucked blooms to Prince Roman who was staring slack-jawed and eyes gleaming. The man accepted the impromptu bouquet without a word, staring down at it with a look of awe.

“What does that one mean?” Roman asked, pointing at a purple flower.

Logan snorted when he saw what it was, “The lobelia, you picked a funny one, your Highness. That one means malevolence.”

Roman pouted, “Well, how was I supposed to know!” he said, bottom lip jutted out dramatically. “Come to think of it, how do _you_ know? This doesn’t seem to be widely known.”

The words weren’t accusing, merely curious. And who was Logan to deny a curious mind? “It’s not. Widely known, I mean. It’s something of a dead language now, I suppose. I was browsing and stumbled upon the book. Needless to say, I was enraptured.”

“And you memorized them all?” The Prince’s voice was filled with awe. “That’s amazing. I can barely remember all of my ancestors' names. And you memorize the language of _flowers_. Incredible.”

“It’s not so incredible, merely memorization, Your Highness.” Logan denied, flushing slightly.

“Still incredible,” Roman insisted. “And stop with the formalities, we’re friends now, yes? Call me Roman.”

“Then I shall extend the same hand in offer, and insist you call me Logan… Roman,” the name twisted on his tongue, heavy and different, but right.

Roman looked absolutely delighted at that. “You’re a wonder, Logan, a true beauty.”

“I’m really not,” he tried to deny.

“Nope! Uh uh, no denying here, buddy.” Roman carefully launched himself for a hug, making sure not to crush the flowers. “You’re brilliant and fantastic and you should admit it.”

Logan only flushed, burrowing deeper into Roman’s arms to hide his embarrassment.

Roman let go, looking intently at his bouquet before pulling out the pink rose and tucking it behind Logan’s right ear.

That only made Logan flush darker.

Roman’s smile brightened, heart-shaped and earnest. He knocked their shoulders together, letting his hand fall and the flowers to rest in his lap.

They sat next to each other on the marble stone bench, thighs touching, bouquet in laps, two hearts beating wildly.

Someone’s hand moved. Then one was next to each other with pinkys interlacing, and a warmth shared between two bodies, intertwined.

The mood was only helped by the lighting. Romantic, warm, beautiful. The dim lanterns twinkled in the background, setting a warm environment.

The dozens of bushes and hedges of flora grown high and surrounding them in a neat box that was cozy and kind.

Cicadas and crickets and other types of bugs chirped and sang in the moonlight, filling it up with a pleasant background noise.

Quiet and peaceful.

Of course, that was where the peace had to break.

Thundering footsteps against gravel and dirt. Wild flapping of arms. Rocks loosening.

“Your Highness! Your Highness! Roman! Where the fuck are you?”

Roman stiffened, hand falling away. “I’m here, Joan, in my garden!” He called out over the hedges.

A harried noble ran through, nearly tripping in their haste. “Roman, thank the everloving fuck I found you. Urgent news from Advisor Virgil.”

“What is it, Joan?” Roman’s tone was brisk and cold. He stood up to meet the noble’s gaze, hands holding the bouquet delicately. “Explain.”

Joan’s eyes cut to Logan, still sitting next to the other Prince and wearing the pink rose behind his ear.

“Prince Logan is my --- and my trusted _friend_,” Roman said, catching Joan’s suspicious gaze. Logan heard that word again, and he cursed himself for not being able to translate it into Eiehden. “Anything you need to say to me can be said in front of him.”

“I- yes, of course, Your Highness. It’s just-” Joan hesitated, hands twisted in front of them, voice growing softer.

“_What_. Joan, what happened?” Roman’s tone, though still brisk, was just that bit kinder.

“His Majesty’s been poisoned!” Joan blurted out, immediately clapping their hands over their mouth, brown eyes pained. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that.”

Logan stiffened, hands clenched in his lap. His jaw clenched, assassins at the ball. Possibly the work of rogues or a coup. He couldn’t believe that this was happening.

It was supposed to be a good night. They had just reconciled with each other. Logan just started to have a friend. Why was there only pain and misery everywhere he stood?

Roman’s hands went slack, flowers falling soundlessly to the ground and promptly crushed under Roman’s heel as he tread up to Joan, taking them by the shoulders. “What. Happened.”

Quiet and peaceful.

No. There was only noise and chaos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The garden scene was drawn by my artist partner availe Check out her art, it's all fabulous! The flower symbolism I got from here; I decided to stick to one source because meanings always get mixed up and I didn't want to research too deeply and have it conflict with what I wanted Logan to say. Roll credits. Am I forgetting anything...?  
Oh yeah, hahaha someone is poisoned, lol.  
Thanks for reading and leave a comment below!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton is excited about his date. Virgil is Thirsty. And the night ends on a totally horrible note.

Patton was excited. He was shaking in his boots. He had a date!

He had a date with a Royal Advisor.

Virgil, Lady, the name just rolled off his tongue. A name that fit an adorable man.

“Patton!” He startled, bringing his shield up to block a strike from his opponent. “For Lady’s sake, Patton, pay bloody attention!”

“I’m in love, Elyan!”

“With who!” The man asked, sword a blur as he blocked and parried. His back hit Patton’s as they started to fight back to back against new knights.

“A man!” Patton laughed gleefully, heart singing.

“Just finish the duel, for Mercy’s sake!” Elyan yelled, shield knocked out of hand.

Patton didn’t deign that with a response, mind focussed back onto the attacks at hand.

He analyzed his last three attackers. They were fairly new, according to the Eiehden senior knights. They had needed practice, children of nobles wanting to prove their worth to their seniors.

One of them looked to be about eighteen, the two others twenty. The eighteen year old was cocky, swinging his sword around with an arrogant smile playing on his lips.

Brash, that was what Patton decided. The boy was probably going to rush at him, sword swinging.

The other two were twins, swords levered up, but wary. They circled him, actions mirrored.

He was surrounded, Elyan had already finished, beating the other two rookies and leaving him with the stragglers.

He didn’t know if Elyan did this on purpose or not. The cocky boy had had enough apparently, immediately charging at him.

Patton swept low, ducking the blow aimed for his head. The boy ran past, losing his balance and Patton elbowed his back, sweeping out his knees.

The boy fell to the ground with a groan, sword clattering to the side until Patton kicked it away.

The twins immediately pounced on him when his back was turned. Patton grunted when the butt of a sword clipped at his ribs. He aimed, and disarmed one twin, hitting the back of their head where they crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

He stumbled back, leaving a fair bit of distance between the twins. Eyes cast to the side, he noticed the other boy limping out of the area, cradling his ribs. The boy cast a sheepish smile, accepting the senior knights’ playful jeers.

He brought up his sword automatically, barely missing the aim at his shoulder. Patton stumbled back, winded, but unhurt.

The last twin rushed forward, strategy thrown out the window, and Patton easily twisted their swordarm, disarming them with barely a glance. He kicked their chest gently, pushing them down to the ground.

“Yield,” he said gently, swordpoint to their neck.

“I yield,” the remaining attacker said with a laugh. “Wow, they were right when they said that you were one of the best.”

“I just think I’m well-trained,” Patton shrugged nonchalantly.

“Was- was that a pun?” they said squinting and eyes narrowed.

“If it was, it wasn’t very punny,” Patton quipped with a quirk of his lips.

They threw their head back in laughter, “You’re awesome! I’m Sala.”

“Patton,” he offered his hand to them, hauling them up. “You were very good, nearly threw me off my guard at the dual attack. What’s your twin’s name, kiddo?”

“That big lug is Mickey,” Sala took off their helmet, long red-wine hair coming out in ripples.

“Sala!” Mickey whined, sitting at a table and nursing a small bruise at the side of their head. “How many times have I told you, it’s _Michael_!” he whined. Mickey had a pout on his lips.

“I’m older than you, twat.” They whacked the back of his head. “I can call you whatever I like.”

“Sala!” He draped himself across them in a dramatic hug, clinging to their shoulders.

Patton laughed, enjoying the banter between the siblings.

This close, Patton could see the bruises on Mickey’s face and shoulders. The red-wine hair that he had in common with Sala. Even sitting down, Patton could tell that Mickey was tall. Tall and broad.

“Let go, you leech!” Sala pushed him off half-heartedly, stifling laughter.

“What’s this, teaching the runts?” Elyan’s warm hand clapped him on the shoulder, making him stumble.

Patton gave him a sunny smile that belied what he really wanted to do. Elyan only winked. “Elyan, these are the new knights that Eiehde had to offer. Sala and Mickey. Kiddos, this is Elyan.”

“Sir Elyan, at your service,” he purred, kissing the back of Mickey’s hand.

“M-mickey,” he stuttered, red flush very prominent on his face.

“El! Behave,” Patton scolded.

“You gonna make me?” Elyan turned the purr and leer back on him.

He couldn’t stop the flush from happening even if he wanted to. “Stop it!”

“Ah, right. You have your own boy that you’re in love with,” Elyan clicked his tongue with a wink. “When’s the wedding?”

Sala and Mickey watched the encountered like it was a tennis match, eyes flickering back and forth between the two knights.

“Good _knight_, Elyan,” Patton said with a wave and a hidden flush and left.

“Good luck on your date tonight!” Elyan called after him.

“What- what was that?” Sala asked, lost.

“Knights teasing each other,” Elyan said with a shrug. “Now what the hell was that. I knew that Eiedhe’s military was shitty, but I didn’t expect that shitty.”

Mickey and Sala exchanged wide-eyed glances. This was going to be a long lecture.

* * *

Patton couldn’t believe that Elyan. Teasing him like that. He hadn’t even gone on a date with Virgil yet.

Oh. _Oh_! His date was tonight! Mercy, he didn’t even have _clothes_ yet. He was going to fix that. But first after checking up on Logan, he was sure that someone was making sure that he was outfitted correctly now.

After checking in on Logan, Patton rooted through his case, looking for something to wear.

“Looking for something?” Patton looked up, seeing, “Dan!”

“What’s up, Patty-cake?” Dan laughed as Patton launched himself in a hug, patting Patton’s back. “How’s my favourite pun-loving Father figure?”

“What are you doing here? I thought you were back in Aowhea,” Patton asked, letting go of the man. The height difference prominent with how close the two were; Patton practically had to lift his head all the way up to meet Dan’s eyes.

“Nope,” he popped the ‘p’, brown curls flying in front of his eyes. “I was a few of the other servants that went along with you. There’s supposed to be some sort of tourney this weekend added on to this ball. They needed all the servants they could get. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice me?”

“Sorry kiddo, but I can’t,” he took off his glasses, “_see_ that well.”

“That didn’t work as well as you wanted it to.”

“Oh well,” Patton pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Not all of them have to be _vision_-ary.”

“Pat,” Dan groaned loudly. “That was horrible, truly terrible.”

“Well, I can’t seem to _tear_ myself away from these puns,” Patton said behind his giggles.

“That’s it.” Dan said suddenly. “I’m putting a stop to this right now. Bad enough that I have to put up with it from my husband at home, I don’t need it at _work_ too.”

Patton’s eyes lit up, “How is your husband anyhow? I didn’t see him with you, and the two of you are naturally attached at the hip.”

“He’s at home, watching the puppies,” Dan waved it off. “Now don’t distract me. We’re getting you ready for your date tonight. Get you all spiffed up.”

Patton pursed his lips, not wanting to draw so much attention to himself. “Oh, don’t worry, kiddo. You don’t need to do that. I can handle myself.”

“I’m sure you can,” Dan said evenly, keeping his face neutral. “But I’m doing this because I care about you, Pat. We’re friends, yes?”

He ducked his head, red curls falling in front of his glasses. “Yes,” the words came out in a whisper.

“Brilliant,” Dan smiled gently, clapping Patton on the shoulder. “Now then, colour schemes. I was thinking black, or if you want to be a little out there, I would say a _muted_ black. Or if you’re really wanting to spice things up: _grey_.”

“Dan!” Patton laughed. “Those are your colours!”

* * *

Virgil did not know what he was doing.

Talking to an Aowhean? Accepting a date? Not only that, but accepting a date with said _Aowhean_ as well? That was practically asking for trouble.

It didn’t help matters that his date was cute. Er, not cute. He meant the opposite of cute. Cut. Attractive. Appealing.

Wait, he meant the antonyms. _Un_attractive. _Un_appealing. Yes, that was it.

<strike>Oh, who was he kidding. He wasn’t fooling anyone. Let alone himself.</strike>

He had lingered after showing the Aowhean to the training grounds. Staying hidden behind trees and taking refuge in the shadows, eyes watching the other like a hawk.

He had watched as the man, Patton, went over to the weapons, picking up a longsword. Virgil had watched in disbelief as Patton had expertly wielded the weapon, swinging it around with a practiced ease.

He walked into the sword-ring, hand around the hilt loose.

The man who had the face of a cherub, slicing the sword through the air and easily disarming five knights. The knights that Virgil recognized came from his kingdom.

Patton hadn’t even stood in a defensive position. The knights immediately charged at him, and Patton just… laid into them as if they were nothing more than annoying flies.

Seems that Aowhea’s military lived up to its stories. Now if only Eiedhe’s soldiers could do the same.

When the newer knights-in-training came into the ring, Virgil got worried. Not for Patton. Absolutely not.

But he knew the noble son that was circling around Patton. Annoying, rash, and judging by the way he was holding the sword, not a very good knight.

He didn’t want Patton getting a cut from a wayward swing. The man wasn’t even wearing armor for Mercy’s sake!

Patton seemed to be shouting something, but Virgil was too far away to make it out. But seeing the pleased smile on his face set something fluttering in his chest.

His worries had seemed to be in vain, as Patton easily knocked the noble son down and out of the ring without a second glance.

The noble son at least had the grace to look sheepish as he limped out, and Virgil had seen how Patton gave the boy a concerned look before focusing back on the duel at hand.

<strike>He adamantly denied feeling his heart flutter at that again.</strike>

Within seconds, Patton had laid the twins flat on their feet. Sala, at least Virgil thought it was them, was on their back, and Patton had a gentle look on his face as he forced them to yield.

Patton had said something that made Sala burst into laughter, and the knight had a kind yet mischievous smile on his face before helping them up.

Virgil had watched as he walked them over to their twin, lips quirked up in a familiar smile <strike>that absolutely did not make a smile twitch at his own lips</strike>. He was nearly blinded by the sunny smile, and a glint of something that hit his eyes.

Then Patton had laughed, and Virgil was gone. That smile, along with that angelic appearance, and _holy shit_ was his shirt riding up? Oh my Lady, were those abs? One, two, three, four, five, six.

Virgil had bolted.

Now he was laid on his bed, smothering his face with his pillow to quiet his screams.

“You alright there, sweetcheeks?” Remy asked from the corner of his room.

Virgil had stormed into his room after watching Patton lay his soldiers flat on their backs within seconds, cheeks red and face hiding a flush.

Virgil groaned, burying deeper into the pillows and bed. He had been in that position for a few hours.

“Ah,” Remy clicked his tongue in understanding, coming forward next to the side of the bed. “Boy troubles, I get it, hon. Now why is your gay little heart a flutter today?”

“Get out of my room, Remy,” Virgil’s response was muffled in the sheets, but he didn’t really care about that right now.

“But who else is going to help you with your boy problems?” Remy teased.

Virgil launched a pillow at his direction without looking. “Fuck off.”

“No can do, gurl. I’m gonna help you with your little boytoy. Patton’s a sweetheart, ain’t he?”

Virgil shot up, scowling at the sly smile on Remy’s face. “You’re an ass.” He situated himself on the bed, wrapping blankets around him securely.

“Now, now. We both know that although my ass is hella fine, the only ass you want is Patty-cake’s.” Remy neatly dodged the other pillow Virgil lobbed at him. “Word on the street is that he’s your date to the Welcoming ball.”

“Gods above, does _everyone_ know? How did it get out? We weren’t even in that crowded of a hallway.”

Remy shrugged, patting Virgil on the shoulder. “Word travels fast. Now what are you going to wear?”

“I’m not going,” Virgil rolled over, hiding his face from view.

“Yes, you are,” Remy hauled him to his back, yanking him out of his burrito blanket. “So help me Lady above, you are going to this thing. Also your presence is like, sorta necessary, gurl, being the Royal Advisor and everything.”

“I’m cashing in my sick days.” Virgil pulled the blankets back from Remy’s hands. Didn’t Remy see what was happening? Why he couldn’t go on a date with Patton? <strike>Why he couldn’t let his heart break because of Aowhea again?</strike>

“Yes. You. Are.” Remy grunted, pulling him off the bed and making him tumble onto the ground.

“What the fuck, Remy?”

“You are going to get your ass up and changed into nice clothes and you are going to treat Patton to a nice time at the ball like a gentleman. Because like hell are you going to waste this opportunity,” Remy said, voice a near growl.

“Why are you so interested in the two of us?” Virgil asked, suspicious.

Remy froze minutely before raising his brow. “I was watching you. Your eyes were practically hearts around him. This is the first time I’ve seen you smile like that. And if tomato-head is the reason then I’m all for it.”

“Whatever,” Virgil rolled his eyes, stumbling over the blankets as he got up, Remy helping him. “I don’t need anyone. I handle myself just fine al-”

There was a knock on his door. “Hello?

Patton.

“Virgil? Are you there?”

Virgil and Remy shared panicked looks. Virgil tilted his head at the door urgently, nonverbally telling Remy to get it.

Remy gave him an offended look, shaking his head and crossing his arms. ‘Do it yourself’ his face seemed to be saying.

Virgil gave him a tight smile with his teeth bared, squeezing Remy’s hand where it laid forgotten on his arm firmly, brown eyes promising murder.

Remy huffed, wincing when Virgil let go, but obligingly going to open the door. Virgil ducked out of immediate sight

“_Hey_, Patty-cake,” Remy drawled.

“Remy? I thought this was Virgil’s room?” Patton’s voice was adorably confused.

“It is,” Remy nodded, and from where Virgil was standing Patton’s brows were scrunched up, head tilted like a puppy.

“But,” he waved a hand up and down, “you’re here.”

“I was hanging out with Virge, getting him ready for your date.”

Virgil watched as Patton flushed, mouth opening and closing trying to formulate some sort of response. Virgil clenched his jaw, taking in a deep breath when an errant thought wondered just how far that red travelled.

“Where’s Virgil?”

“Taking a piss.” Remy said, and Virgil threw a pillow at the back of his head, but Remy didn’t react.

“Okay, I just wanted to know if he wanted to meet me at the ball or if we were going together.”

“Together definitely,” Remy nodded his head seriously. “He can’t wait for it. In fact, he was just getting ready.”

“Okay,” Patton said giving him a weird look. “Just so you know, the ball is in less than an hour. I had thought the Royal Advisor had to be there in half an hour.”

Remy cursed.

“Language,” Patton chided automatically.

“Pat, can you give me like ten minutes? Just wait outside the door, thanks doll.” Remy didn’t wait for an answer, shutting the door in Patton’s face.

“The ball’s in an hour!” Virgil screeched, hands in his hair, tugging. “I have to be there in ten minutes to make sure everything doesn’t blow up!”

“Chillax, Virge,” Remy said, going to his dresser. He started to rummage through his clothes, pulling out one outfit after the other. Constantly shaking his head at all of them.

If Virgil wasn’t currently freaking out, then he would be offended by that.

“Here,” clothes flew into his face, and Virgil barely caught them from falling to the ground. “Get dressed in those, and you’ll be the belle of the ball. Along with your _actual_ belle of the ball.”

Virgil looked down at the clothes in his hands and back up to Remy’s expectant face. “Are you going to turn around or not?”

Remy raised a brow, raising his hands up in surrender. “Fine, I’ll turn. Need to preserve that bod for the tomato, huh? I get it gurl.”

Virgil’s cheeks heated up, and he shot Remy a glare he couldn’t see as he turned around, “Fuck you,” he muttered under his breath.

He quickly changed into the clothes that Remy picked out, feeling uncomfortable in the more formal attire. “I’m done,” he grumbled.

Remy turned around, eyes lighting up as he whistled appreciatively, “Damn gurl, you pull that off well.”

Virgil looked down at the clothes before looking at himself in the mirror. “It’s not… awful, I guess.”

“You look _hot_.” Remy corrected.

He wasn’t far off. Well, he was a little bit. But Virgil wasn’t one to put down someone else’s credit.

The clothes were beautiful. Black <strike>like his soul</strike> like the darkest twilight dyed with the faintest hint of navy blue covered his shoulders, the jacket engulfing his body in a snug fit. Silver linings on the edges of the fabric.

A deep and rich purple tunic nestled inside the jacket with tiny azaleas sewn in patterns. Black pants paired with black boots that made him stand a little taller.

His curly black hair was a mess as he ran a hand through it in an attempt to tame it somewhat, feeling the shorn sides as he ruffled. But he couldn’t do anything about it now.

He needed to leave like yesterday.

“Wow.” That voice made Virgil freeze, then spin on his heels. Patton’s blue eyes were wide, twinkling in awe.

Virgil couldn’t move. He did not mentally prepare himself for this. He hadn’t even gone through thinking of how Patton might hate it and how he should change.

He hadn’t even thought of an escape plan when Patton inevitably said that he had fun but he didn’t want to stringing him along anymore.

Also was that a good ‘wow’? Or was it a disgusted ‘wow’? What did Patton mean by that? Did he think that Virgil looked ugly? Was he regretting asking Virgil to the ball as his date? Oh Mercy was Patton looking to take back what he said?

“You look gorgeous.”

Okay, maybe he wasn’t disgusted with Virgil’s face.

“You’re a budding blossom in spring.”

Virgil stopped, squinting. He couldn’t quite see if that was supposed to be a pun or not.

Patton looked stunning in his own outfit. It was similar to his casual clothes, but stiffer, maybe a bit more formal. A light blue vest covered a long-sleeved shirt with sleeves that fanned out in long strips of fabric.

Black belt buckled around his waist holding high dark brown pants with laced black boots.

Frizzy red hair tamed to the side but still slightly covering one blue eye. Glasses that did nothing to hide the sparkle in Patton’s eyes as he was staring at Virgil.

“Good. Er- y-you look g-good too.” Virgil grunted that out, stomach twisting as he mentally punched himself for stammering.

“Blossom!” Was that another pun? “How about we get going, bud? May I?” Patton held out his hand, and Virgil glanced a look at Patton’s eyes.

Blue, blue eyes that swirled with a thousand emotions. Blue, blue eyes that seemed to suck him in. Blue, blue eyes that were gentle and kind and not at all expectant.

Virgil laid his hand into Patton’s, feeling warmth in those calloused palms. His heart stuttered in his chest, missing several beats as Patton’s fingers interlaced with his.

“Perfect.” Patton’s voice was low, enthralling and pulling him in that Virgil felt like he couldn’t get out. “Let’s go.”

“Have fun!” Remy’s mischievous voice rang out, and Virgil could hear the sly, smug smile that was on the bastard’s face. “Be safe, have him home by midnight!”

Patton’s giggles were high and clear, “See you, Remy!” He waved goodbye to the blond with his free hand before gently tugging Virgil out the door.

“I meant it, you know.” Virgil heard Patton say to him lowly. “You really do look gorgeous in that, Virgil.”

Virgil’s flush was high on his cheeks as he simply sped up his walking, oblivious to the fond smile shot toward him by Patton as he was dragged along.

* * *

Patton’s heart was soaring heights.

The ball had been wonderful, he danced one set with Virgil before the ball had officially started, and he had nearly been singing with glee.

Of course then, Virgil had to do his actual job of Royal Advisor, taking his place by the King’s side.

King Thomas had looked exceedingly regal in his formal wear, red and black entwined to look like a cloak and suit all at once. Red clothing cloaked by a black overcoat that fluttered all the way down to his ankles.

Red wine sleeves and golden curlicues designed as hems. Gold asters sewn into the shoulders and right above his heart.

His son, Prince Roman, (who Patton now realized was Thomas’ real name) was seated to the King’s right, looking the exact opposite of His Majesty’s regal attire, decked out in all white.

Logan looked much like His Majesty in similar dark clothing, and Patton could see the twitch of lips that showed just how annoyed Logan was to be sitting there next to His Highness.

The King made a big speech that Patton paid half a mind to when he caught sight of Virgil standing deliciously behind the King, looking nearly as regal as the royalty in front of him.

He whispered something to the King before catching sight of Patton staring. He quirked a brow, smirking, and Patton’s heart skipped a beat at those dark brown eyes gazing deep into his soul.

Patton shook it off, offering Virgil a beaming smile. Virgil gave him a hesitant one back before going back to the King.

The King had told them all to start the dance officially as Prince Roman and Logan made their way to the centre of the ballroom.

Patton watched as his charge delicately put his hand into Prince Roman’s, cupped to follow. The gingerly way he was walking to the dance floor. The stern set to his mouth.

Logan was not happy.

Then the music started, and Prince Roman set him to dance, whirling him round and round until the song was over. And then there was a certain glint in Logan’s eyes as Prince Roman said something and Logan was sitting back down again.

Patton lost sight of the Prince as he intermingled with other lords, ladies and nobility.

His eyes trailed back to Virgil, and he made up his mind before anything else could change it. He marched over to the Royal Advisor, sidling up to him with as much smoothness and nonchalance as possible.

“Care for a dance, or is the music a-balling?” Patton asked the man to his left.

“That _pun_ was appalling.” Virgil deadpanned. “I’d rather be here. Dances are not my preferences.”

“Oh,” Patton said. _Why did he dance with me?_ he thought. “Then you wouldn’t mind if I stayed here, would you? Or would you rather I waltz away.”

A muffled snort, and Patton bit back a grin. He was wearing him down! “I mean this song’s not really my jive, but I can shake to the best of it.”

A chuckle this time, and Patton didn’t hold back his grin this time. Virgil shook his head, smiling ruefully. “I don’t dance, but I suppose you can stay here.”

Patton beamed, eyes sliding over to King Thomas who was having trouble hiding his smile. “How about you, Majesty, may I tempt you to a dance? It takes two to tango.”

“Ah, no. I have two left feet,” King Thomas declined. “I’d rather eat. The kitchen’s scallops are one of my favourite dishes.”

“Really, I have to sea it to believe it. Shell I ask for a dish, or is it an open dock?”

King Thomas let out a happy laugh. “No need, there are platters everywhere. I- oh thank you.”

A servant dressed in light green set a plate in front of the King, steaming scallops and linguine noodles arranged neatly in a pile.

The servant bowed his head before quickly rushing off before Patton could get a good look at his face.

The King picked up his chalice, taking a sip of wine. “The scallops are to die for, but this plate is mine.”

“I guess I conch’t take from yours,” Patton sighed as if it was a gracious gesture. “I moll-ask around for some then.”

Patton mock-pouted at the King, and King Thomas only speared the meat and popped it into his mouth.

Then promptly, surreptitiously, spat it out into a napkin.

“Virgil?” The King ushered him close, and the man leaned down. “I think I may have been poisoned.” The words were whispered, but Patton heard him loud and clear.

He furtively looked around, spotting someone with brown eyes and green clothes watching them keenly. The eyes were wild, and Patton couldn’t see anything else before the figure vanished, a glint of silverish-grey in their wake.

“We’ll make your excuses, Majesty.” Virgil’s voice was hushed and slightly harried, panic blooming in his brown eyes that was trying to keep steady.

Patton stabbed one of the scallops, taking a sniff and trying to play it off as a bite. He set it down, troubled. “Bitter almonds and flowers.”

Virgil’s jaw clenched, and he started fussing over the King, trying to keep him awake and aware. The King already looking paler and paler by the minute.

Cyconite, one of the most deadliest poisons in the seven kingdoms. If ingested, it could immediately numb a person’s nerves, making them fall to a coma in less than an hour. Death following quickly afterwards.

The plant that it came from was poisonous to the touch, only thick and sturdy leather gloves could allow anyone to handle it. And even then if a petal so much as grazed skin, the person could break out into hives and rashes that no ointment yet discovered could heal.

If the King ingested a small amount, then he was safe. He could be healed. But that was only if he took in less than 0.0001%, and that was betting on the safe side. Cyconite when made into a tonic was less potent than its plant form. Not so very poisonous to the touch. Able to be healed through much medicine and a stomach pumping.

But they needed to get His Majesty out of here now for any of that to happen. If not, then there was a high chance that there would be no Majesty.

He also needed to get the plate to someone who could examine it. A healer or an alchemist. Swiftly, he rolled down his sleeves, holding onto the plate carefully as he brought it up. Never too safe to be sorry.

“Come on, Majesty, we’ll say you’ve been hit by the stomach flu or something. Let’s get going.” He heard Virgil murmur, a barely noticeable tremble in his voice. “Leo, take his Majesty to his rooms. His stomach feels unwell. After that, send for a healer.”

The King was whisked away by the taller man without a second glance. Patton could hear the murmurs as people caught sight of their King being rushed away.

Virgil stood up straight, flashing the crowd a plastic smile. The music ended on an abrupt tone as he raised his hand. “Apologies everyone. It seems His Majesty is feeling an upset stomach. It seems the scallops might be a bit sour, do watch out. Carry on dancing, there’s nothing the matter.”

Whispers and muttering echoed throughout the ballroom, but when the music picked up again, everyone started dancing and having fun.

Virgil motioned to one of the nobles, fluorescent orange pinned to their lapels as they hurried over to him. “Tell Roman that the King’s been poisoned, and get him to the King’s room as fast as possible.”

Virgil’s tone was hushed, not wanting to set any of the servants or people milling around off into a panic. His brown eyes were nearly black with anger and rage.

“Has he really-?”

Virgil only nodded grimly at them. Their face set into a steely mask, nodding and rushing off to find the Prince.

“Patton, to me.”

Virgil’s back was rimrod straight, voice level but furious at the same time. He set out of the ballroom without a moment’s hesitation, footsteps stomping into the ground towards the exit.

Patton could only follow Virgil, plate in hand and stomach heavy with lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh, Thomas is such a disaster gay that he was able to keep calm and carry on as he was poisoned. What a cool dude. Thanks for reading and leave a comment below!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the poisoning.

Roman knew the night had been going too easy. Too safe. Of course, something like this had to happen. Had to happen while he was in the middle of courting and bonding with his Intended.

And it was a horrible thought because this was his _Father_. His Father who cared for him. Who raised him alone when-- when Papa and Remus disappeared.

<strike>Not dead. Never dead. If he admitted they were dead, then he accepted that they were gone. And they can’t be gone. They just-- can’t.</strike>

And, yes, he may have been blinded slightly by his own quickening heartbeat and flushed cheeks. And maybe he had revealed too much to Prin- to Logan. But they were intended for each other after all.

The tourney this weekend was supposed to be his something grand! To prove himself to the Prince. To prove that he would take care of and protect him. And to show that he was worthy of Logan’s hand.

And yes, it was a bit outdated. But tradition was tradition.

Something small, something grand, something precious for his hand.

He had been having fun. Prince Logan had amazed him, taking the first step in their courting. And Roman had wanted to show something grand during the tourney, to show that he accepted the proposal, to remind everyone that Prince was his.

But then something worse came crashing down. Yanked the carpet from right beneath his feet. Gave him the worse sense of vertigo ever.

He couldn’t believe that his Father, someone that he thought would be untouchable, someone invincible, poisoned.

He might lose the only other person he had left.

Roman felt like crying. His stomach was sick, filled with lead and gravel and his mouth tasted like bile.

His legs burned as he stormed through the hallways of the castle, no doubt bumping into several guards and servants. He could hear voices, but they were muffled, distorted, in his ears.

Each step forward felt like lead in his boots and nails in his soul. He had no idea where Logan was, no idea if the Prince had followed him or not.

Since he heard the news, Roman only had tunnel vision. Get to his Father, see that he was well, then kill the bastard that tried to assassinate his family.

He slammed the door open, a rush of medical healers steering clear as he stomped toward his Father. Virgil was standing next to the bedpost, face pale and gaunt, expression sunken, and eyebags dark.

His Father was resting on his bed, sweating and pale, a washcloth resting on his forehead. He had been changed into more comfortable clothing, and he didn’t look so bad. But appearances could be deceiving.

“Virgil. What happened. How is he,” Roman asked, unable to help the biting tone. Virgil, for his sake, didn’t comment on the tone.

“Stable, better than he was before.” Virgil scrubbed a hand down his face tiredly. “He threw up multiple times, expelling a lot of bile. Healer Brian says that that was good. That he was expelling the poison along with it. I’ll let the Head Healer speak more.”

Virgil waved a hand at a healer, a mousy young man with unruly brown hair squeaked and stepped forward. “Y-yes. Lord Advisor Virgil was correct in that regard. His Majesty did the right thing in spitting the poison out. Otherwise, we might’ve been too late.”

Roman felt immense relief and dread at that news. Relief that his Father was going to be alright. Dread that he might had died within seconds if he hadn’t recognized something was amiss.

“His Majesty has to be kept under bed rest for at least three days.” The Healer continued to speak, consulting a clipboard as well as glancing between the Prince and the Advisor. “Other healers and myself will need to monitor him for the first two, and if His Majesty continues to improve, he should be up and about by the fourth.

“We’ve pumped his stomach, so all the poison should be out there by now. If not, the medicine should flush out any leftover toxins. There is also medicine that should stabilize and help his immune system fight the remaining side effects of the poison. So if he’s delirious, it’s the medicine at work. Other than that, His Majesty is going to be alright.”

Alright. Alright. His Father was going to be alright. He wasn’t dying, on the verge of death, or anything. He was going to be fine.

Roman could feel his knees nearly buckle in relief at that statement, and he could see Virgil let out a sigh of relief from the corner of his eye.

“Urgh.”

All eyes fell on the rapidly waking king in his bed. He thrashed slightly, moaning in pain. His eyes fluttered open, glazed and unfocused.

“What-- ugh- what happened?” The King croaked. “I feel like an elephant fell on top of my chest.”

“All normal reactions,” Healer Brian rushed to reassure when Virgil and Roman whirled worried eyes on him, Roman returning back to where Virgil stood.

“What do you remember, Majesty?” Virgil asked cautiously.

“You and the guard from Aowhea-- what was his name?--”

“Patton, your Majesty,” Virgil mumbled, ducking his head when Roman tried to meet his eyes.

“Ah, well you and _Patton_ were flirting, and he mentioned some puns, and then scallops?”

“Well at least his memory hasn’t been affected," the Healer noted, scribbling down on his clipboard.

“Oh, I was poisoned!” Thomas tried to sit up, arm trying to lever himself up before he collapsed. Virgil and Roman rushed to either side to help him.

“Was a suspect apprehended?” the King asked once he was propped up in a seated position.

“No, your Majesty,” Virgil stepped up to answer. “No one caught sight of anything.”

“If I may, your Majesty,” Patton brought attention to himself, “I may have something.”

He and Virgil glanced a look at each other, until the King nodded. “Proceed.”

Patton looked uneasily at the healers, and Thomas caught sight of his gaze. “There’s no need to be worried, Patton. My healers can be trusted to be discreet.”

“If you’re sure,” Patton said. “The servant that brought you your food. I didn’t get a good look at him besides a look of green from his clothes and silver from his hair.”

“How’d you know it was a man? What if it was a girl?” Virgil asked.

If Patton looked like he was offended by the question, he didn’t show it. “From the stocky build of the person, to the height, it looked mostly like a man from a glance. Though I suppose, it could’ve been a woman or otherwise as well.”

“Let’s say that they’re genderneutal and be done with it.”

“As you will, Majesty. After you had spat the food out, I looked around, and there was this person who was watching you intently, as if they wanted to make sure that you swallowed what was given before vanishing in a second.”

“That could’ve been anyone though,” Virgil argued. “How do you know that it’s the assassin.”

Patton shook his head, “You didn’t see those eyes. They were wild, unhinged.”

“Well, that’s not much to go on,” Roman mused, thoughts running rampant in his head. “If the assassin’s profile was crazy looking eyes, who’s to say that they can’t pretend to have regular eyes if we manage to single them out.”

“Then we have nothing, no conclusive data or evidence. Only that the suspect worked in the kitchens and has possible crazy eyes,” Virgil concluded.

“Then there’s nothing we can do except wait for the next possible attack. Most likely at the tourney this weekend.” Thomas said thoughtfully.

“You _want_ to continue with the tourney?” Virgil asked, bewildered. “You’ve literally just been _poisoned_.”

“Healer Brian says that I’ll be fine,” Thomas waved him off. “Besides the tourney is tradition. If we cancel it because of a small poisoning, the people will be terribly disappointed.”

“Small? Small?!” Virgil screeched, arms flapping in anger and disbelief. “In what way is a poisoning _small_, your Majesty, you almost _died_.”

“But I survived,” the King said.

Roman could see the resemblance in Father and son now. No wonder Virgil always said he had his hands full with the both of them.

“I’ll make sure you won’t the next time something like this happens!”

“Death threats to the king is treason, Virgil,” King Thomas said mildly.

Virgil fell silent, only the occasional death threat falling from his lips in a whisper. He scowled, “If you want the tourney to go on, then what day did you want it to be?”

“The same day it was before I got poisoned.”

“But that- that’s in two days!” Virgil exclaimed. “The healers said that you wouldn’t be allowed out of bed during then. And you can’t survey the tourney from your bed!”

“That’s why I won’t be,” the King said patiently. “Roman will.”

“_What_?!”

Both Roman and Virgil shouted the exclamation. Heads swiveling to stare at each other then the King in bewilderment and outrage respectively.

“You heard what I said,” King Thomas said to them calmly. “I think this will be a great opportunity for Roman to prepare for the crown.”

“But Father-!”

“Your Majesty-!”

“No exceptions.” The King cut them off before there were anymore loud protests. “My decision is final.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“I can still compete, right Father?” Roman piped up.

King Thomas’ eyes softened. “Of course, Roman. You’ll just need to judge a few of the competitions. The melee, the longbow, you know the ones. You can compete in the sword fights with the knights. However, you’ll be in charge of this event. Overseeing it, making sure that it runs smoothly, all that. With no complaints.”

Roman still looked put out but nodded his head in agreement.

“Virgil, you’ll be in charge of Roman. Make sure he stays on task and don’t let him sneak off.”

The Royal Advisor gave a rueful smirk, saluting with a roll of his eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Father!”

“Just making sure the tourney goes off well. It’s tradition, you know.”

Roman let out a grievous sigh as if it pained him to say the words. “I _suppose_ I’ll make do with the Edge-visor working with me.”

Virgil flicked Roman’s forehead. “I’m in charge of you, brat.”

“Ow! Virgil~! Why’re you so mean to meeee?!” Roman wailed, hanging off of Virgil’s shoulders.

“I’ll make sure His Highness doesn’t blow anything up,” Virgil assured the King looking between the two of them in amusement.

Roman puffed up, unlatching from Virgil. “I’ll do my best, Father. You can count on me.”

King Thomas gave the two a congenial smile. “I’m sure you will. I’m going to fall asleep now.” And the King slumped back into bed, eyes shut and snoring.

Healer Brian rushed to the King’s side, checking his pulse and waving for a helper to come to him. “We’ll take it from here, your Highness, Lord Advisor. The medicine we gave him probably made him more tired than usual, especially after all that talking.”

Virgil nodded, “Nothing that was spoken in this room will be made known to the public. If anyone asks, tell them that the King has gotten a bad bout of food poisoning. It’s the closest thing to the truth. And we don’t need the people panicking because of unwarranted duress.”

“Yes, Lord Advisor,” sang the chorus of servants and healers in the room.

“Roman, we’ll have to make an official statement tomorrow morning,” Virgil continued. “We’ll put the public’s mind at ease and tell them about the tourney still going on. Hopefully that’ll appease them enough not to worry about the King.”

“Got it, Virge.”

“Now get out of my face, I know you wanna see Prince Logan as well. I’ll handle this. You can tell him, but only if you’re sure. I want to see you up and awake by the time the sun’s risen.”

Roman nodded eagerly before running out the door. Elation that his Father wasn’t going to die running through his veins.

Logan. That was right, he needed to get back to Logan. After beating a hasty retreat when he learned his Father was poisoned, he sort of left the visiting Prince there, hadn’t he?

That was not a point in his favour.

He needed to start planning his something grand at the tourney quick. Otherwise this courtship was going to be in ruins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can Roman handle the responsibility? I dunno. We'll find out soon! Thanks for reading and leave a comment below!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil and Logan get acquainted only to argue with each other. Roman asks Logan an important question. And there's a special visitor arriving at Eiehde.

Virgil covered his face with a sigh, hands blocking all sight.

He leant back in his chair, the quiet murmurs of the librarian cataloging a welcome distraction.

He needed to get away from the senators and governors, pulled into a meeting the night after the King had retired from the ball. He knew they meant well, expressing concern for the King and wanting to be involved with the wedding. But he couldn't handle them anytime soon.

Roman and he had issued a statement about Thomas’ health yesterday morning, the public slightly downtrodden that their King wasn’t going to be at the tournament. It had been a longstanding tradition every other month that Eiehde’s royalty would host a tournament and festival to celebrate the peace.

The people had only been slightly mollified that the tourney and tournament would still continue. They had been less happy that the festival would be cut a day, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. And Virgil was practically begging for some peace and quiet. A time where his King wasn’t_ just poisoned._

The sun was close to rising. For some reason he was _still_ in the library, and he was pretty sure that the librarian had locked him in last night. He paused, listening to them cataloging right now.

He thought he might've lost a few hours to sleep because he remembered writing something down before blackness was his last memory. He must've woken up without realizing and written notes less than an hour ago.

A migraine was rising up with a vengeance as he thought about the night's events. His King just _had_ to get poisoned, hadn't he?

Thomas just didn't do things by halves. And then Joan had said they saw Roman and Logan together, _alone_, in the gardens.

Without a chaperone.

That idiot prince must have been in the midst of some dramatic proposal with the Prince of Eiedhe.

And now the Father of the idiot wanted to continue with the tourney when there would be thousands of eyes on the kingdom and security would most certainly be lax because of the festivities.

Not to mention that there was an _assassin_ in the midst intent to _kill_. Kill King Thomas _dead_.

And the wedding was getting closer by the minute and it seemed that the husbands to be have _not_ been planning their wedding at all.

This wasn't what he signed up for, becoming the Royal Advisor. He should just be called a glorified babysitter and be done with it.

He sighed, dropping his hands and massaging his temples. Thirty three and looking after adult-children was making him go stray. Don't get him wrong, he loved the royal family and would absolutely _murder_ anyone who would dare harm him.

But it was getting infinitely harder to enjoy his job with how much anxiety he was earning from it.

Mindlessly, he tapped his fingers against the desk. Now he had to be planning the tourney with Roman.

Virgil pursed his lips. He supposed he could plan around the welcoming speech for the competitors, make it shorter.

No doubt Roman wanted to be in more than just the longsword part. And that was the first part of the competition.

The young man was gifted in weaponry, no doubt. His preference of swordsmanship was known all throughout Eiehde. Even though the kingdom was well known for their navy.

Without the prince as the captain of the royal guard whipping the soldiers new and old into shape, they would've been seized ages ago.

Virgil paused, he was never admitting that out loud to the prince. He was arrogant enough without Virgil stroking his ego.

The joust Roman could skip, surveying that one instead. And it would allow for the fresh blood to be debuted without being dealt with a thrashing from their Prince.

The archery competition Roman could skip as well. That boy was a decent shot, but he really didn't enjoy as he did with the close contact weapons.

Javelins as well could be avoided. Virgil scribbled it down. If he was going to shorten the welcoming speech, then he could move the longsword part to the front and let Roman open up with that.

It would make for a nice opening, showing interpersonal relations with the people and the royal family, showing that they all enjoyed fun.

Yes, Virgil tapped his pen on the table. That would do nicely. He would have to tighten security around the King's quarters as well as the entrances and exits of the tourney.

The tournament just had to be today. King Thomas just had to have the tournament continue even though he had been poisoned. Virgil just had to agree to plan it again even though he had already planned it to a T weeks before. And now he was rushing to finish it before it began in a five hours.

Dropping the pen, he clasped his hands in front of his face, resting his elbows on the table in front of him. He leaned his weight forward, stomach nearly touching the edge.

He was exhausted. Physically, mentally, emotionally. Since the King had been poisoned only last night, he had been the unofficial ruler in place. Sure, there was Roman. But Virgil wouldn't trust him with this responsibility when he hasn't even taken his _wedding_ into account yet.

Not to mention that Patton had seemed to be avoiding him lately. The past two days, Virgil had seen neither hide nor hair of the red-headed knight. He supposed that he hadn’t done anything to actively seek _him_ out either.

Just thinking about what happened that night of the ball made him blush a deep red. Patton had looked so _handsome_ in his clothes, leading him in a dance that had nothing to do with the music.

The inch difference between them was noted, and he only had to slightly tilt his head up to meet those blue, blue eyes hidden behind black glasses that were so sincere. And that smile.

That smile that stretched across his lips, hiding a thin scar at the corner of his mouth. And those puns. How he entranced the King.

<strike>How he himself was entranced with Patton as well.</strike>

"Oh, hello." A surprised voice greeted. "I wasn't expecting anyone else to be here. Are you enjoying the quiet this corner has to offer too?"

Virgil stiffened, sleep shaken off in a matter of seconds. Prince Logan of Aowhea.

Great, just what Virgil needed. "I can go." He stood up abruptly, chair screeching against the wooden flooring. His hands were on top of his papers, no doubt being smeared by his palms. Hopefully, he didn't ruin them too badly.

"There's no need. You were here first." Prince Logan said, and Virgil got a good look at the prince for the first time.

He had been there, of course, welcoming this Prince into his home, his country. His first reaction was intimidating. The young man’s back was straight, arms held behind his back, shoulders level with each other, and eyes staring forward to meet Thomas’.

Virgil was just behind the King, taking in the envoy with a cursory, curious look. Half hidden behind shadows and the throne, he was struck by the Prince’s eyes. They were as blue as crispest winter night. Intense and cold. Emotionless and shielded.

Virgil could’ve felt his stomach drop at the resemblance; they were just like his Father’s. The same intense, cold and dead eyes that Ernst always had.

He suppressed a shiver at the memory, cautiously taking a seat again. He eyed Prince Logan, wary. He knew that the Prince wouldn’t do anything. The Prince was a guest here, he could easily be thrown into the dungeons if he did do anything.

The Prince tilted his head, “Well, I suppose I shall have to find another spot to write my theses and study then.”

He looked at the Prince carefully. The man was dressed in casualwear, long navy blue sleeved shirt with a white undershirt peeking out in the ‘V’ of the neck. His long grey pants hung on his hips, loose and comfortable looking.

A bag rested on his shoulder, a leather satchel that was worn and weary, tattered. It was obviously a well-used and well-loved satchel. The contents of it sunk the bag down to near the Prince’s knees with how much was in it.

He didn’t _look_ like a threat. And it must be his sleep deprived brain that made him say, “You can sit here, your Highness. I don’t mind.”

What was he thinking? What was he _saying_? He did mind, he minded very much!

“Oh,” even Prince Logan looked pleasantly surprised as he took in what Virgil said. “If you’re sure, then I shall.”

The Prince hesitantly pulled out a chair, gingerly making sure that the legs of it did not scrape against the flooring. He set his bag on the floor next to him, left wide open. <strike>Wide open for easy access to a weapon?</strike>

Virgil watched as the Prince picked up a book and started reading, glasses glinted to obscure his eyes. Virgil narrowed his eyes, watching him for a moment before cautiously going back to his own work.

He pulled out the paper that had the opening speech to the people for the tournament. He could see the words and letters but he wasn’t making neither hide nor tails of any of it.

“Tell me, Advisor Virgil, are you practiced in the sciences?” the Prince asked, and Virgil blinked at the sudden question.

“Er, yeah, I guess.” He didn’t know if he wanted to know where this was going.

“Are you familiar with the theory of the earth being flat?”

Virgil snorted, “Duh, who isn’t? It’s stupid. The earth is _obviously_ a cube.”

Prince Logan’s eyes sparkled in challenge, the blue eyes light as the day sky. “Oh? Are you prepared to defend your statement?”

“Bring it on, Prince Nerd.” Virgil shot back. Oh, that was not going to lend him any favours with the future Prince consort.

But it was too late.

Prince Logan was already pulling out notebooks and texts, spreading it all in front of him on the desk. He organized them, opening and flipping through various pages before settling on the one he wanted. He brought out notebooks and a pencil, settling a pencil in between his fingers as he brought the tip of the pencil to one notebook.

  
“As there is no moderator for this impromptu debate, we shall have to make due with it just being the two of us as I do not wish to flag down a servant from their duties, especially a servant with no credentials. Have you ever been in a structured mock debate, Lord Advisor?”

Virgil shook his head in growing confusion.

“Well, you’ll be having to open with your argument and I shall with mine. This is a mock debate as well and I shall forgive the fact that you would be unprepared with notes, and have there be no point values in this. With that, I expect you and myself from making any derogatory statement towards each other. No aggravating the opponent and to let the other have their own turn.” Prince Logan looked at him expectantly, and Virgil realized he was looking for agreement.

“Er- yeah sure. Seems legit.”

“Satisfactory. Your opening statement?” Prince Logan prompted him.

“Um, the earth is a cube?” Virgil answered, confused.

“I shall be taking the opposing side and proposing that the earth is flat. Now then, Lord Advisor, you shall provide one piece of evidence that defends your statement.”

“When I walk along a certain path in this Kingdom, there would be a feeling of gravity pulling along my naval making me want to vomit. Since the earth’s a cube, when someone walks closer to the edge or vertices of the earth, there’s less gravity there, making it feel like I’m walking somewhere up a cliff instead of flat land.”

Virgil had no idea where this was going, he had no idea what he just talked about. He was purely reacting with whatever came out of his mouth. Yet he was oddly interested in this debate and was wondering where it would go, and feeling rather proud that he could think of something to say with no moment of preparation at all.

The Prince’s face didn’t change, scribbling whatever Virgil just said down into his notebook. “My argument against that is that the gravity of the statement wouldn’t actually work, since it pulls toward the centre of the disk. With that, the ‘pulling of gravity along your naval’ would just be the earth’s compensation of rotations along its flattened axis points.”

“If the earth was flat, wouldn’t the gravity be too weak to work?” Virgil argued. “On a two dimensional plane, gravity would vary on different sides making it so that people wouldn’t be walking along flat ground without being pulled toward one place.”

“Actually, that would only be if you got farther and farther away from the centre of the earth,” Prince Logan refuted. “The further away, the more horizontal things get. For example, trees would grow more horizontal since they grow away from the centre, and there are numerous cases of trees growing horizontal.”

“Okay, but what if those were flukes,” Virgil argued. “Trees are stubborn motherfuckers and would grow anywhere and in any direction if there was enough sunlight and space to accommodate them.”

“In multiple cases?” Prince Logan raised a brow. “Unlikely. Especially in the town Nealdan, horizontal trees are infamous there.”

“Okay, what about the sun then.” Virgil pointed out, hands in front of him and pushing him up as he got more fired up. “If the sun were flat, it wouldn’t be able to orbit the earth whereas if it were a cube it would still be able to do that because the axis and focus points would still fundamentally work as the two orbit each other, giving us night and day.”

“The sun and moon hover over the earth, like a desk lamp over your papers,” the Prince said as if it was obvious, and Virgil was already getting worked up that he missed the flare of amusement and competition in the Prince’s eyes.

“Because it does, it loops the number of days, simulating night and day. The distance the sun is from the earth would allow for the sun to go across the planes of the earth.”

“Okay, that one didn’t even make any fucking sense! My grandmama would’ve made a better argument and she believes that alcohol makes good medicine when you have a cold.”

“Well, if you’re not going to comply with the rules of the debate, then you concede.”

“Like hell I do!” Virgil exclaimed. “This is stupid, you’re stupid, everything is stupid.”

“With all of these expletives, it seems like you’re unable to form another valid point for your argument,” the Prince pointed out. “That means that you have no more statements or arguments for your side. Thus conceding the match.”

Virgil stayed silent, knowing that the Prince had a point. He settled for a harsh glare, receiving one back.

They held each other’s glares.

Virgil broke first and dissolved into giggles. And Prince Logan’s lips twitched as he sat back down, hands folded in front of him.

“That was so stupid,” Virgil gasped out in between laughs.

Prince Logan allowed himself a small laugh as he tilted his head, eyes softer than he had ever seen them.

“You don’t--” Virgil struggled to get a hold of himself, “You don’t really believe that the earth is flat, do you? Because if you do, I’ll have to fight you.”

“I believe it as much as you truly believe that the earth is a cube,” Prince Logan said it with so much derision, nose wrinkling in offense. “The earth is round. Well, the more scientific description is oblate-spheroid for it isn’t truly and perfectly round.”

“Thank the Lady.” Virgil paused, tilting his head as he looked at the Prince, “Why did you ask me if I thought the earth was flat then? Actually, why did you instigate a debate if you knew that I knew that we were both wrong.”

“Ah,” Prince Logan clicked his tongue, looking away before answering. “That would be Patton’s fault.”

“Patton?” Virgil raised an incredulous brow. “What does Patton have anything to do with it?”

“He noticed that you looked stressed the past couple of days, and he asked me if I could ask you or help in some way,” Prince Logan explained, putting his notebooks and papers back inside his bag.

“Ah, so you’re the buffer.” If Virgil’s bitter tone was noticed by the Prince, he didn’t show it.

“No,” Logan corrected, neatly stacking his books in a pile. “Though I suppose it can be interpreted that way. Patton was afraid that anything he would’ve done to get your attention would be rebuffed or that he would come on too strong. He didn’t want to metaphorically step on your toes when trying to help you.

“So he sent me in his stead, and I must confess, this meeting was also self-motivated.”

“Oh?” Virgil leaned forward, intrigued.

Logan nodded, adjusting his glasses. “I had wanted to meet you for some time now as well. Royal Advisor Virgil, you’re quite well-known in the country. The people speak highly of you. I can see that it is not undeserved.”

The Prince fixed him with a piercing stare, though not an unkind one, that made Virgil shiver. “You are a very intelligent man, Lord Advisor, and a very worthy opponent. I enjoyed our debate very much as baseless in facts as it was, I hope to have another one soon, my Lord.”

“Call me Virgil or Virge,” Virgil said after a long pause as his brain rebooted to try and process the compliments.

“Virge then if you’ll call me Logan,” Logan tipped his head in acknowledgement. “I understand that it may seem odd, but Patton does care for you. He had wanted to see you himself, but he was busy with other arrangements regarding the tournament.”

“I… I think I care for him as well,” Virgil muttered, ducking his head, curls falling in front of his eyes.

Logan’s smile was all teeth. “Excellent.”

“Logan? Nerd? Where are you? The servants said that they saw you come in here.”

Logan and Virgil exchanged glances.

They could hear him rummaging around, calling for Logan again. Logan gave Virgil an apologetic smile. “I suppose I should answer otherwise he’d be even more annoying.”

Virgil gave a derisive snort. “I’ve known him for twenty years. He’s always going to be annoying. Good luck dealing with him for the rest of your life.”

Logan frowned, opening his mouth.

“Oh, Logan, there you are!” Roman popped out from behind a bookshelf. “I’ve been looking for you for ages. I’ve got something to ask you. Come on.”

Roman tugged insistently on Logan’s arms. “Wait- Roman, my books-!”

The red-brown haired Prince swiped the other’s books into his arms, grabbing the bag on the floor, swift and neat, and tugged the bespectacled man out of the library.

Virgil shook his head. Roman was never going to change. He shook out his nerves, feeling more relaxed and got back to work.

Logan felt slightly annoyed. He had been having a lovely time debating with Lor- with Virgil. Truth be told, he felt that he had found a friend in this kingdom.

Over the two weeks he had been here, he hadn’t had time to go around seeking companionship. And Patton, bless his heart, was talkative enough for Logan to feel satisfied about any other sort of company.

Princ- Roman.

Roman had avoided him until the incident with the library as well as the time he spent with him during the ball. He wasn’t able to inquire after him because of his anger as well.

The other had been oddly… sweet after the ball two days ago. He had spent more time with Logan, sticking almost dangerously close to Logan’s side some days. They spent much of their time talking about poems and books, which Logan hadn’t thought Roman was capable of spending longer than an hour without getting restless.

(He lasted two.)

Logan wasn’t sure, but he thought that the Prince regarded him as a friend. He had said so to Noble Joan that night. And he felt oddly touched with an emotion he couldn’t comprehend.

He had asked for the details of what had happened. And while Roman seemed very reluctant to share. He told Logan all that had transpired in the King’s room. The whole thing had been... an ordeal, to say the least.

Of course, there was also the gifts.

The many, many, _many_ gifts that the Prince had sent to him and his room the past two days.

It had started innocently enough, a vase of wisteria when he woke up. Then an hour later, a servant handed him a box of chocolate with a note from Roman saying that he wished him a good day.

Which was weird enough because he was allergic to chocolate, so he just gave it to Patton and went on with his day.

But the gifts didn’t stop there.

An hour after that, a servant with a dog on a lead walked up to him as well when he was reading in one of the gazebos. That sent him into a fit of sneezes and a red face because of course, he also was allergic to dog fur.

The servant and dog had to be sent away before he nearly broke out into hives.

He had to spend the rest of the day in his room, resting from his allergic reaction. There had been numerous knocks on his doors as he rested that he had to steadfastly ignore. But he had welcomed oblivion as he fell asleep.

And when he recovered enough a few hours later, he found a neatly wrapped box on his desk. Which promptly threw him into a panic because what if the assassin had left him a poison in that box? What if it had been the assassin?

Letting Patton handle the box opening hadn’t been his best decision either because the knight had opened it to find a rose dipped in gold.

The humiliated and embarrassed flush as Patton read the note that was much too embarrassing to remember in exactness only grew redder as Logan snatched the gift away from Patton when he knew that it was safe. That did not stop any puns as Logan ushered the man from his room.

The gifts hadn’t stopped coming.

A golden, diamond encrusted watch.

A dark red and blue silk handkerchief.

A self-help book about how to live a better life.

(Was the Prince trying to tell him something with that one?)

A golden set of dominoes.

A golden telescope.

A set of gold cufflinks with a constellation on it.

(The Prince seemed to have a thing for gold.)

A singing troupe that followed him for five hours. If he heard another ditty about his eyes or how strong Prince Roman was, he would stab someone.

A red leather journal with a wisteria and aster twisting together on the cover.

A caricature of Prince Roman slaying a dragon.

(That one he burned.)

Countless others that he couldn’t keep track of and had to give to the villagers in lieu of any other place to put them. His room ran out of space the second day when he woke up to petals in his face and a room filled with vases and vases of flowers.

“Now that I’ve got you alone,” Roman was saying, hands gesticulating and drawing Logan back to the present.

The two were in Roman’s room after he had dragged Logan off, the other Prince waving off any servants inquiring them and practically clearing a path to his destination.

They entered, and Roman set Logan’s things on the ground, standing in front of him, nervous. Logan took in his surroundings.

The Prince’s room wasn’t what he had been expecting. Logan imagined that the extravagant Prince would have tapestries and canopies and drapes hanging everywhere in fine silks and cottons.

Logan thought there would’ve been more space, canvases of art and busts of odd sculptures. Red and gold covering every single square living space.

It was nothing like that.

The room was bare, to say the least. There was a bed pushed into a corner of the room, an armoire next to it. A table a few feet away from it and a desk pushed into the other corner away from the bed.

The desk seemed to be the only evidence that the Prince lived there. The chair had his armour laid messily upon it, sword laid atop the desk. Papers strewn across the top of the desk in disarray that made Logan’s eye twitch.

It was still bigger than Logan expected. Easily double the size of his own. The windows as well were the size of two men stacked atop each other as well with simple black drapes tied to let in sunlight.

But other than that, it was empty.

There was a space far across the other side of the bed that was empty, left alone and wide open with no furniture and bare enough that Logan bet that there must’ve been some other pieces of furniture that was taken away.

“I wanted to ask you a question.”

“That it had to be asked in your room and couldn’t wait until later?” Logan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Roman said. He smiled sheepishly, “Okay, maybe not so much. But I didn’t really want anyone else to listen in on us. And I wanted to ask you right away.”

How important must this be question be for Roman to seek him out straight away?

“Well?” Logan crossed his arms. “What is it?”

Roman flushed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a piece of paper. He fumbled as he tried to open it, nearly dropping it as the paper crinkled.

“You wrote it down?” Logan asked, highly amused by the scene playing out in front of him.

Roman shot him a feeble glare, finally managing to open the paper. He took a deep breath, opening his mouth.

Only for no words to come out.

“I’m sorry, was I supposed to hear a question or…?”

The Prince flushed a brighter red, his eyes flashing with embarrassment. He mumbled something that Logan couldn’t make out, stuffing the paper back into his pocket.

Logan couldn’t help but feel immense pleasure at seeing the Prince squirm. The usually well spoken man at a loss for words.

The man took a deep breath, “Will you give me a token for me to wear during the tourney?”

Logan froze. Did he hear right? Did Roman really ask _him_ for a token? Him, a neighboring prince and a man.

“Why?”

“Because you’re my friend,” Roman said simply. “And I want to wear a token from you.”

“But I’m a male,” Logan said. “Shouldn’t this be a question for your Destined?”

Roman frowned, tilting his head in confusion. “It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he said slowly. “I just wanted to ask.”

Logan didn’t know what to do. Should he agree? Should he decline? To decline seemed terribly rude when the Prince went through all of this to ask him alone, taking into consideration how private this moment should be.

But to agree would be to enter a situation he wouldn’t be able to take back. This would be a big gesture, something open and public should he give Roman something.

Everyone would see that Roman was unavailable for courting. That he was taken. Taken by Logan. And that was a situation that he was uncomfortable with.

He didn’t want to be the sole reason Roman would be unable to court anyone. Because this gesture, as innocuous as it seemed, was a big gesture.

“Are you sure? This is… this is something big.” Logan said, because he wanted to, but he also didn’t. It would be that he supported Roman, but also a million other things that would be incriminating.

“It can just mean something between friends,” Roman reassured him. “Someone to support me in the tourney. Loads of knights and challengers have one from family. Why? Does it mean something in Aowhea?”

Logan gulped. “It’s- it’s basically like a courting mark. Something to claim one as the other’s Destined.”

Roman nodded slowly, as if unable to comprehend why this would be so bad. “It doesn’t have to mean it like that here. Please, Logan, please give me a token from you.”

Logan looked away from those pleading brown-red eyes, biting his bottom lip. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, unable to find an answer. On one hand, he could decline and just walk away from this whole scenario.

On the other, he could just agree and have it marked under Aowhea’s traditions, just ignore the implications of his own traditions. He was in Eiehde after all.

“Please, Logan?”

It was the sentence that broke him.

“Fine,” he heaved a sigh. With trembling fingers, he untied the dark blue ascot around his neck. He delicately folded it and, with hesitant hands, handed it over to Roman.

“Thank you, my Prince,” Roman said softly, taking the ascot gently and giving Logan a heavy look that he had to avert his eyes.

“Princess, where the _fuck_ you at?” Remy’s obnoxious voice broke the moment as he slammed open the door. “Where have you _been_? Virgil has been harping me for hours, asking where you were. He needs you for the opening speech, dumbo. Why aren’t you-?”

He spotted the two of them standing. “Oh. _Ohhh_. That’s where you’ve been. Well, I’m not one to stop a romantic rendezvous but Virgil needed you like _yesterday_. And I am not above dragging you to him. So stop snogging, and _come on_.”

Roman sighed, closing his hand tightly around Logan’s ascot. He walked over to his desk and grabbed his armour and sword. “I’ll see you later, my Prince.” It was said with a tender look, and Roman’s hand lingered as he patted Logan goodbye.

Logan nodded dumbly as he walked away, whacking Remy on the shoulder and hearing, “You could _not_ have worse timing, Remy.”

The bespectacled man stood, frozen, in Roman’s room. Remy’s words caught up to him.

“Did- did Remy say romantic?! Did he think we were romantically involved?!” This was _not_ good. If word got out to his Father… Logan didn’t even want to think about the consequences of what may happen.

“Your Highness? There you are,” Patton’s voice came out of nowhere. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. You’ve got a guest.”

Patton grabbed his arm, tugging him out of the room. He was still speaking, but Logan’s mind wasn’t comprehending his words, just letting himself be dragged along.

All he could think about how unhappy his Father would be with him. He sent Logan here as an envoy, a representative of Aowhea, something that made Logan _proud_.

If someone told his Father that he was off- off _gallivanting_ out with someone, a _male_ someone at that, there would be hell to pay.

“Here we are, Highness.” Patton pushed him into his own room, and Logan blinked, not grasping the situation. “Your Majesty, His Highness has arrived.”

There was a man standing in front of the window, his back to Logan. He had a long, black cape trailing down to the floor that prevented him from telling who it was exactly .

But then the man turned around, and Logan felt the blood drain from his face.

The gold was the first clue. His second was the famous burn mark on the left side of his face. His third was the greeting.

“Hello, son of mine.”

King Ernst of Aowhea was here.

Logan’s _Father_ was here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, 🙂, this story is almost over. Wow, only three more chapters left after this. Thanks for reading and leave a comment below!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas reflects on his life since Roman had turned ten.

Thomas’ mind was in a haze. Whatever medicine the healers gave him must be working double time because he could barely remember what day it was.

He blinked, darkness still swarming him. He blinked again and realized that the drapes had been drawn shut and it was not the end of the world that he thought it was.

He sat up unsteadily, having to lean heavily on his arm as it threatened to buckle under his weight. His vision swam, blurring out sights in front of him more than necessary.

This was getting troublesome. The poisoning hadn’t been his fault; he knew that, but he couldn’t help feeling the intricate pinpricks of guilt in his mind that he was sitting here useless as his son and trusted advisor handled day to day court and the traditional tourney and festival.

Ah, the festival. It had always been Roman and… Roman and Remus’ favourite part of the annual year. The festival of Sanders.

Victor Sanders, the founder of their little kingdom. The seafaring pirate that had conquered a magnificent kingdom and returned to his lover once he was done and handed it all to his lover, who became the best monarch of all of Eiehde.

King Victor and Monarch Taylor of Eiehde, the legendary first rulers of Eiehde, so remembered in history that they had a festival in their name.

Thomas sighed, remembering all the times he and… and his husband had taken their baby twins to the festival. Remus had immediately taken to the fighting part of the festival, eyes lighting up everytime one of the competitors won or lost a joust.

He had charmingly declared that he was going to learn how to use a sword and become one of the best sword fighters in all of Eiehde. That his life long goal was to be a pirate.

Thomas and his husband had been amused, of course, agreeing to allow him sword lessons at the age of ten. The eagerness and bright look in Remus’ eyes was a memory that he was never going to forget.

Roman had hated the tourney part of the festival, preferring the performances that the actors regaling the boy of how Victor had conquered land after land only to hand them all for his lover.

His own starry-eyed face at seeing the magic of the stage was another memory that Thomas was never going to forget.

The festival and tourney, always two fold. One to commemorate the greatest monarchs to ever live and the other to soothe the greatest swordsman that ever fought in battle.

He had always loved telling the story to his twins.

Thomas’ shoulders fell, remembering the last time he had ever saw those expressions. Unbidden tears accumulating behind eyelids as he clenched them shut to stop their fall.

His heart ached. His son was gone, his baby. His lover, his husband was lost forever. And today was their anniversary.

How cruel that a day that used to fill him and his family with immense joy only left a scarred heart after thirteen years.

He never wanted to remember this day. This festival and tourney. The fact that Roman’s eyes never held that same starry-eyed wonder ever again. That he took to weapons and fighting even though he never wanted to in the first place.

That Thomas couldn’t do anything to prevent it from happening.

But it had been thirteen years, and as much as Thomas never wanted to, life moved on and so must he.

The festival had been postponed for five years after their disappearance, never death, even still that everything pointed to death, Thomas would never admit it a proper amount of time to mourn and Thomas had to think of his kingdom and his people again.

To push aside his aches and scarred heart and give the people what they want. And a giant festival and tourney to relieve some stress was something that would be good for everyone.

And Roman, only fifteen, had declared to him, with steely eyes, that he was going to be the best knight in the kingdom, that he wasn’t ever going to let anything happen to their people again, never going to let another pirate ruin their lives.

Thomas could still remember the panic and chaos of that day. Fire consuming everything. Pirates taking all they could. It was all he could do with his navy to defend his people.

Thomas couldn’t remember the last time Roman had looked so determined, and thirteen years later, his son had done it. He had become the most recognized knight in all of Eiehde.

But of course, that hadn’t been enough for Roman. He wanted to push himself more, wanted to be the best in the whole world.

Thomas could remember many a night looking out his window and seeing Roman hack at straw dummies as if his life depended on it.

It had been a difficult thirteen years to say the least. Thomas swallowed, feeling the heaviness of the years settle on his skin. Thirteen years without his husband, without his baby boy, with only himself and Virgil, a man ten years his junior, to run the kingdom.

Thomas sighed, levering himself out of bed. He could feel pins and needles in his legs at how little they were used the past two days. He staggered over to one of the windows, the one by the right side of his bed, opening one of the drapes and letting sunlight stream into his room.

Immediately, he felt calmer with some mediocrum of light in his room. He did it again, pulling open the drapes of the windows on the other side of his bed and letting the window open a crack for fresh air. of On wobbly feet, he managed to hobble over to his desk, settling down heavily onto the chair.

The poison must have been worse than he realized, feeling light headed from the few feet he walked. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and he swiped away some droplets that dripped down near his eyes.

The sun was higher than he realized as well, and the tournament must have already started because he could hear roars of applause and, if he strained himself, the clangs of swords battering against each other.

Thomas smiled ruefully, settling back completely against his chair. He faced away from the window, staring back at his mess of a desk.

Roman must be having the time of his life now. He knew his son, he knew that Roman must be planning something for his Intended at the tourney or even at the festival as well.

Logan must really be something special because Thomas knew that Roman hasn’t stepped foot in the festival in over thirteen years. And it made something in his heart clench to realize that his son, his only baby boy left, was getting married in less than two weeks.

Ten days, Thomas had been counting.

He was letting his son get married for the sake of his country. Because ever since an insurgence of pirates had sprung to life five years ago, his navy, the pride and backbone of the kingdom, was suffering under the onslaught of pirate attacks.

He had hopes that this alliance, this engagement would be the answer to his problems. No one knew, no one but him and Virgil but the kingdom had been teetering closer and closer to collapse.

His and his son’s support of the arts for the people, by the people had been wonderful, a piece of moral that led to the kingdom’s beautiful pieces of work. But there had been too many commissions, too many supplies that didn’t come cheap.

Thomas didn’t regret, not at all. And he didn’t believe that the money was wasted either unlike some senators of his council. The artworks were amazing and worth every cent.

But the cents were also running out since he had to balance managing the people and their salaries. Not to mention the constant reconstruction because of pirate pillages that his navy was unable to prevent.

Meaning that money was tight in the kingdom, and he didn’t want to starve his people through another kingdom again. Once was one too much.

So he allied his kingdom with his old friend, it was the most logical solution. The sane solution, the humane solution.

Marrying his son off to a stranger was considered humane. He hadn’t even wanted to do it, but his council was insistent. The numbers mattered. And with a heavy heart, he did, signing away his soul with the black ink that would follow him the rest of his life.

Thomas clenched his jaw, hands tightening to fists at his side. He hit his fist on the desk, papers bouncing up. He hated this. His son was too young, his future son in law was definitely too young. Eighteen, Logan was just on the cusp of adulthood.

He kicked his table, swearing at the pain that blossomed. That was going to bruise later. He stood up abruptly, chair squeaking as it slid back against the floor. His head pounded at the sudden change in position, body protesting as he forced it to walk.

Distant cheers could be heard, and Thomas made his way to his half opened drape, pulling the two back fully open. More sunlight burst through his room, warming it up immediately.

From this point, Thomas could clearly see the tourney going on in its full glory. Unbidden, a smile crept up on him, widening as memories of his tiny boys watching the older knights fight and win, Remus’ eyes holding a spark in them as he watched the battles.

A knight fell down, yielding as they were held at sword point. The winning knight took off his helmet, Roman’s long hair flipping out of his face. Thomas could see his son, raising a fist in victory, a tight smile on his face.

Thomas tilted his head, eyes squinting. There was something tied to the arm of his son, something dark blue. He leaned closer to get a better look, focussing on the piece of fabric.

Roman had never taken a token ever since he started participating in the tournament, never in his eight years of competing. To start now… it must be Logan’s. The colour was the same as the young prince’s eyes.

Thomas was so focused on the situation presented in front of him that he nearly missed a tiny click from behind him. Hinges creaking open.

He froze. That hadn’t been the door opening, it would’ve been louder, squeakier. His window opened, hinges echoing louder. He patted his body as casually as he could, unable to find any weapon on himself.

He couldn’t warn the guards. The intruder might have a crossbow or some sort of weapon they could throw that could kill him. Slowly, so as not to alert the intruder, Thomas turned around, taking in a deep breath to prepare himself.

Green. That was the first thing he noticed, green and black. The clothes of his intruder was well fit, but loose. Then he saw the dark tan, reminiscent of Roman’s. Then Thomas saw the face of his intruder.

Thomas’ eyes widened, mouth flapping open up and down as his brain tried to process what he was seeing. “Remus?” he managed to say.

His baby boy- no, the man he didn’t know, didn’t want to know smiled, mouth curving into a malicious smile that Thomas didn’t remember his son ever having. But he still held the same spark in those familiar eyes.

“Hi Daddy, did you miss me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh shit, did someone say plot twist?


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman fights in a tournament with Logan in mind, and Logan spots someone who shouldn't be here.

Roman’s blood was humming. He had already opened the tournament with the welcoming speech. Logan sat with his Father, the King of Aowhea!, where Roman and his Father usually sat, surveying the arena with bored eyes.

Roman shivered at those eyes piercing his soul as the King watched the display in front of him with polite disinterest.

He stood at one end of the arena, armour on, sword and shield at the ready. Remy had helped him with ihs armour, and he didn’t stop the insults and teasing when he saw the dark blue cloth that Roman was holding after he finished preparing.

Roman only glared at him, taking painstaking care to tie the ascot around his bicep.

Now, he was standing, legs bent and feet spread apart, shoulder width apart. He watched his opponent with wary eyes. The woman was taller than him, and Roman was a tall man already.

She was slightly hunched over, double swords in her hands and venomous green eyes glaring right into him.

Roman didn’t let the glare get to him, just forcing himself to focus at the battle. She was tall, if he managed to get her unbalanced, he could force her off her feet and pin her down quick and easy.

“Begin!”

Roman barely managed to get his shield up in time to deflect a blow from the woman. She was quick, hitting him once, twice then retreating. He could barely keep up with her attacks to get a chance to fight her back.

He was kept on the offensive, the battering from the woman was definitely going to leave a bruise on his shield arm. He saw a chance, the woman weakening and losing her anger as he kept blocking and deflected one of the blades with a twist of his arm, sending it flying clear across the arena.

Cheers could be heard from the crowd, but Roman paid it no mind, letting his battle instincts take over.

The woman sneered at him from behind her helmet, both hands gripping the hilt of her sword tightly but not enough to make her trip up and lose it.

This time Roman attacked, a dual offense of both sword and shield. He could tell that she was tiring, leading her away from where her other sword was and toward the walls.

He swung, and left his shield arm wide open, and the woman struck. She slashed her sword at the opening,and he cried out in pain, forcing him to drop his shield. She kicked the shield away before he could recover.

His armour held, no cut or wound in sight. But he scowled, it was a rookie mistake, his leaving that opening.

He felt heavy in his armour, the sting of the other’s blade battering him down. She was persistent, not letting him attack at all, forcing him to defend.

She surged forward and pushed down on him, digging in her toes to bear her weight against his. He grunted, feeling sweat drip down his face as his sword stayed the only defense against her.

In his peripheral, he saw her toes pushing down more, her heels up as she bore down on him and he suppressed a smirk.

Roman, with as much strength as he could muster, fought back against her, pushing her off his chest, and as she stumbled back, grip on her sword loosening.

Swiftly, Roman swept his feet under her legs, making her fall to the ground with a hard thud, helmet falling off and sword clattering far away. Gently, he rested his heel on her hand, sword tip resting under her chin as she glared at him with those venomous, green eyes and blonde hair falling into pools of hair around her head.

“Yield,” Roman said, keeping his voice strong.

It was a tense few moments as the woman didn’t say anything, only keeping her strong glare on him. But Roman kept his stare, sword pushing more into her chin.

“...I yield,” the woman said after several long moments, scar pulsing in anger.

“Prince Roman wins!”

Roman stared into her eyes for a moment before straightening, and extended a hand to the woman.

She stared at it with contempt before pushing herself into a sitting position and levering herself up without his help.

Stomping away, she grabbed her swords and walked out of the arena.

Roman stared after her, seeing as two other men swooped down to comfort her, arms clapping her shoulder. Her helmet was tucked under her arm, as she shook the comforting hands away. They looked almost familiar if he squinted, but then they were gone before he could get a closer glimpse.

There was raucous cheers, and he smiled, raising his free hand and waving to the cheering masses. His smile hurting his cheeks as he forced it there. T<strike>here was only one person he wanted to cheer for him.</strike>

Virgil swooped down next to him, “You good?”

He snapped back to attention, “Huh? Oh yeah. Was there something you needed?”

The advisor shook his head, “Just wanted to see if you were alright. That battle was much more… blood thirsty than it should have been.”

Roman nodded thoughtfully, “I think I met that woman before too….”

“What?”

“Yeah, I just don’t remember where.” Roman shrugged. “If it was important, then I probably would’ve remembered anyway.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, handing Roman his shield that Roman definitely didn’t notice the man holding. “Here, you’re done for the next three rounds, then it’s archery’s turn. Go sit with your Destined and future Father-in-law.”

Roman nodded absentmindedly, setting towards the exit, before Virgil’s words caught up to him. “Wait, what did you say?”

Virgil looked at him oddly, “That you’re done for the next three rounds?”

“No, after that.”

“That you should sit with your Destined?”

“Destined?” Roman recalled those words from when he asked Logan. “Is that an Aowhean thing?”

“Er, yeah. It means the same as Intended but the Aowheans don’t have the word for that in their language, so Destinted is the closest they got.”

Roman was stuck, standing dumbstruck by the exits. He stared up at Logan who wasn’t even looking at the arena anymore, resting his chin on his hand and staring out into the gardens.

Did Logan not…?

“Roman! Come on, you have to watch the rest of the matches. Stop standing there like an idiot!” Virgil grabbed his shoulder, hauling him off before he could finish his thought.

* * *

Logan sat in between his Father and Roman, who was on the edge of his seat as he watched the matches, a calculating gaze on the opponents in the arena. Logan caught Roman sneaking glances at him from the corner of his eye, who snapped his head back to the fight every time Logan met his gaze.

It was infuriating. The failed furtive glances that Roman kept sneaking were distracting, and leaving him wanting to know why Roman was trying to catch his attention.

But he couldn’t. Because his Father was sitting to his left, watching the battle and the two of them with polite disinterest and he still couldn’t get over the fact that his Father was _here_.

There had been no warning, no letter, no news at all of why his Father was here. All his Father said that he was here for a visit, that his sister was handling everything at home with Emile, and that he would return after two weeks.

Which was so vague that Logan wanted to strangle something. He had… let his guard down these few weeks without his Father. Not having to look behind his back, not have to second check himself and his words. He hadn’t needed to keep his mouth shut for days, letting himself ramble to Roman and others whenever he could.

Now his posture was perfect, his face a mask of polite boredom as he took in the scene in front of him with unseeing eyes. His hands didn’t fidget, feet staying firmly in place.

The announcer shouted the victor’s name with the uproarious cries of approval to the crowd. His fingers twitched when he caught the other Prince’s eye again.

Scowling, he waited for a lull before murmuring his excuses. His Father nodded his approval, and Logan stood up.

And Roman did the same. “I have to go as well.”

“Don’t you have a joust or something to compete in?” Logan asked, barely hiding a scowl as a headache started to form between his eyes.

“The next competition in archery, and I can’t shoot straight to save my life.” Roman shook his head, falling into step with Logan as they walked out of the booth.

“Highnesses, are you okay?” Patton’s voice worried over them.

“We’re fine, Patton,” Logan barely managed not to bite the words out, waving him away. He missed both Patton and Roman’s frown as he stomped away.

His feet moved unconsciously, walking with no destination. Distantly, he could hear Roman walking next to him, but his mind was in such a flurry that he didn’t want to process it.

He was still reeling over the fact that his Father was here. He couldn’t fathom the possible reason.

And he couldn’t take his Father’s word at face value, he didn’t believe it. Something about letting Valerie run the kingdom by herself as a trial run. That was only one of his reasons, Logan knew, his Father had something else up his sleeve.

His feet stopped of their own accord. He looked around, finding him in Roman’s garden. He could feel himself relaxing, the smell and the sight of the flowers making him feel an infinite times better.

Roman hummed, making him jump. He had forgotten that the man followed him here. “It’s rather peaceful here, isn’t it?”

Logan nodded, sitting down and closing his eyes. The stimulus from the event had simmered away, barely heard of here so far from the garden. His headache was starting to melt away, the dull throb lessening as the minutes passed.

To Roman’s credit, the man didn’t say anything, seeming to sense that Logan needed time. Logan’s knee bounced up and down of its own accord. His mind finally feeling empty. He stopped thinking about his Father, all the possible reasons he could be here, he stopped focussing on his panic, forcing himself to think about something else.

His mind subconsciously brought up Roman. He opened his eyes, noticing how the man was on his knees in front of one of the flowerbeds. He had somehow procured a small trowel, digging up some dirt and pulling out weeds.

He was hunched over, humming a tuneless song as he worked, and Logan admired his perseverance as he was gardening in armour, heavy armour. But Roman didn’t seem to mind, only continuing to weed his garden without a second thought.

Logan watched for several minutes, just letting the moment sink in, not wanting to break it. His shoulders lowered, relaxing for the first time today, Roman’s presence making it much easier.

The man’s humming wasn’t unpleasant, he thought absentmindedly.

“Is it difficult to garden wearing that?” Logan asked without thinking.

Roman startled at the question, turning back to look at Logan, ears red. “Ah not really, I used to come here when I was avoiding my duties or skipping practice.” He rubbed the back of his neck, no doubt getting dirt on him. “It’s habit now, I guess.”

Logan hummed, “You must have been a very rebellious child.”

“Nope, I was the good child between the two of us when I was younger. Re- My baby brother was a little hellion when we were children.”

The brother again, the pain must still hurt him, Logan realized. “I find _that_ hard to believe.”

“It’s true! In fact….” Roman went on to regale him about the multiple instances his brother got into trouble, and Logan found himself chuckling along to several instances in the stories.

Roman was an avid storyteller, knowing just the right moods and tones to use to engage his audience. His eyes were bright as well, warm and velvety. Logan jolted when he realized that Roman had stopped talking ages ago and that he was staring right into Roman’s eyes.

He cleared his throat, glancing away because he knew he wouldn’t be able to hide the embarrassed and guilty expression that was threatening to break through. “That sounds like a wonderful childhood, Roman.”

“Yeah,” Roman said softly, tinged with sadness, “it was.”

The heaviness of that statement weighed on Logan’s heart that he didn’t want to look at Roman for fear of breaking his stoicness and lunging for a hug. But he couldn’t do that because he had limits and boundaries.

“I- Logan, I needed to ask you something.” Roman said, breaking away from the heaviness from his earlier statement.

Logan hummed for him to continue, something moving catching his eye. He tuned Roman out, feeling slightly guilty that he was only half paying attention. His eyes caught the movement, and he blinked, unsure if what he saw was real.

“Roman, I apologize for interrupting, but,” he grabbed the other’s arm, spinning him forward and pointing, “what does that look like?”

“My Father’s tower?”

“Look _closer_.” Logan bid. “My vision isn’t that good, even with my spectacles, is someone climbing there?”

Roman squinted and then tensed. “Yes, that is someone climbing into my Father’s room. A man if I’m making it out correctly.”

Logan cursed under his breath. “It must be the assassin, hoping to finish his job.”

Roman and Logan exchanged worried looks.

“We can’t alert the guards right now, we’re too far away.” Logan said frantically as the man got closer and closer to the window. “There’s a chance that he could have a weapon that he could just throw into the room and kill him right away.”

For once, Logan cursed that he never thought of the possibility that the assassin would attack today, the past two days distracting him too much. There were too many guards at the event instead, only a light amount in the castle.

Roman’s eyes never left the man’s figure, tracking his movements. His jaw clenched when he wiggled into the open window. “We’ll just have to go after him ourselves.”

He started to stomp away, and Logan had to scurry to catch up to him. He grabbed Roman’s shoulder to slow him down. “Wait, Roman, what? We’re no match for an assassin, who knows what kind of weapons he could have.”

The man just shook Logan’s hand off, continuing to trek forward with determination. “You can go get help if you want, but I’m not stopping.”

“Roman, godsdammit, stop!” Logan hissed. “Why are you doing this? You could get killed!”

“That’s my Father up there,” Roman seethed, eyes blazing hot that they were nearly red. He spun to face Logan, using his height tower over the other. “Like hell am I gonna run away when he could die. I trained for this godsdammit. I am not going to lose him, not today.”

Logan reeled back at the venom and anger in Roman’s voice, and he let him go. Roman took that to spin back to the entrance, running.

Logan stared after him, feeling frozen. He glanced back up at the castle tower, seeing the rope dangling from the window. He screwed his eyes shut, feeling his heart pound much too quickly than it should.

Looking between the rope and the exits, Logan heaved a sigh and made his decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost there!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the beginning.

Thomas couldn’t believe his son was here in the flesh. The son that he lost thirteen years ago. The son that he thought was _dead_ was here, standing in front of him.

“Remus- Remus, is it really you?”

“Ah, ah, ah, daddy dearest, it’s Captain Amaryllis Hollyhock now.” Remus gave him a sweeping bow, mocking smile playing on his lips. “Captain of the Wormwood Cabbage, at your service.”

Thomas was in total shock that his only thought was, “Cabbage?”

Remus shrugged, “Inside joke. Don’t get me off topic! I’m here to kill you!” He laughed gleefully, taking out a knife from a scabbard that Thomas did not want to know where.

All hope that he could have his son back peacefully died when Remus stabbed the knife at the air in front of him. “Why?”

“_Because_ Daddy Dearest, you ruined my life!” Remus said with a manic smile, and Thomas absolutely refused to acknowledge the _pirate_ name. “There I was, an ickle ten year, bright eyed and bushy tailed, getting ready for the banquet and festival and tourney, absolutely ready to join in some swash buckling and swords flying.

“But you said no, that I was too young to participate. Took away my sword, the thing that I spent so long saving up for.” He growled, the dagger getting dangerously closer to Thomas’ face as he stepped back, hitting his desk.

“So I snuck out! No one noticed, or no one was supposed to. Imagine my surprise when Papa found me, taking me back by ear. Boy, was he mad! But guess who found us?” Remus looked expectantly at him, eyes gleaming red.

Thomas didn’t know if he was supposed to answer. He didn’t remember any of this happening. He never got word about this. Virgil told him that the two got kidnapped by pirates.

“Guess!” Remus shrieked, dagger catching on his cheek, blood trickling down. “Oops,” he giggled. “My bad, well if you won’t guess, then I’ll just tell you, though it isn’t as fun.”

Remus licked the blood from the dagger, eyes glazing over thoughtfully. And Thomas took his time to fully examine his son that he hadn’t seen in over thirteen years.

His son was taller now, a man’s build that he only felt like he remembered was a young boy the other day. He supposed it was just the other that he thought Remus was a child. Now his son was twenty three, barely half an inch taller than him and threatening him with a knife.

Times changed.

Remus was wearing a green long sleeved tunic, belt tied around his waist with what looked like an octopus as its buckle. His trousers were blue or black, Thomas couldn’t really tell at this angle, white strings keeping it up.

He was tanner than Roman, clearly being out in the sun more. And Thomas had to take a metaphorical step back as he remembered that his son had probably been turned into a pirate. It made his stomach turn in guilt.

Remus’ hair was shorn short on his left side, longer hair growing out to the side that it nearly covered his eyes as he flicked it to the side. Curiously, Thomas noticed the grey streak prominent in the middle of his hair, heart clenching when he thought about what must have happened for that to get there. He even had a scruff of a beard, something akin to peach fuzz around his mouth.

“-- And so I told him that the A and H stand for Asshole. So he could stick his concerns up my asshole for all I cared. I was going to conquer the nine seas if his life depended on it, so I stabbed him.” Remus ended his tangent with a little shrug, picking the undersides of his nails with the dagger.

“That was…” Thomas swallowed, “graphic.”

Remus’ eyes lit up, more brown than the red it was before, “If you want, I can tell you something really wild. Now, no spoilers but it involved an octopus and several men and one sword.”

Thomas really didn’t want to know that story. He opened his mouth to say something before he felt his knees buckling, staggering to lean his weight on the desk behind him.

“That must be the poison!” Remus said cheerfully. “Though it worked slower than I was promised,” he pouted. “I’ll have to kill the merchant. Shame, he had such a handsome dick.”

“Don't you mean face?” Thomas asked, face paling. Please mean face, he prayed. He really did not want to hear about his son’s exploits.

“Hmm? Oh yeah, I suppose. But his _dick_. I mean that cock was just-!”

“Please,” Thomas said, clamping his both of his ears with his hands as the blood drained from his face, “do not finish that sentence.”

“Spoilsport,” Remus’ pout deepened. “You’re the killjoy I remember you being, Daddy dearest. Ah well, you’re about to die anyway.”

“If the dagger’s been poisoned shouldn’t you be dying as well?”

“What a fun question!” Remus’ eyes lit up. “Of course not, I’ve built up quite an intolerance to poisons in all these years that I’ve been gone, Daddy!”

“What happened to Papa?”

The good mood in Remus’ eyes vanished. “Died protecting me from the pirates I now lead. Oh, papa, at least you tried. Unlike _you_.”

Thomas’ stomach left him as all hope vanished. With Remus standing in front of him, he could delude himself into thinking J- his husband was still alive. But all of that disappeared by the hard look Remus gave him. He couldn’t hold his weight anymore, sliding to the floor.

Remus leaned over him, mouth near his ear. “Enjoy hell, daddy. I’ll enjoy ruining your kingdom.”

The door slammed open, and Remus tore himself away from Thomas, hand outstretched after throwing a knife. It made a thud against the frame, Roman peeking out from behind the door.

“Darn, that was my last knife,” Remus whigned, stamping his foot slightly. “Guess, I’ll have to make do with swords instead.”

He pulled out a sword from somewhere again that Thomas _definitely_ didn’t want to know came from, and swung it in his hand lazily as he waited. Thomas wondered how it could be Roman when he distinctly remember that Roman was at the tourney.

The door opened wide, Roman holding his sword at the ready, still decked out in his armour, face furious. Thomas couldn’t see his face as he stepped closer, obscured by Remus stepping in front of him.

Roman stalked forward as his eyes settled on Remus and his grip faltered. “Rem-rem?”

“Hello~ Ro-ro!” Remus sang, swinging his sword jauntily.

“You’re a pirate?” Roman said in disbelief, taking in his attire and figuring out much quicker than Thomas did. “Why would you be a pirate? Pirates ruined our lives. They took you and Papa away from us!”

“No, they saved my life!” Remus threw back. “Papa died, saving me, and I became a pirate for him.”

“That’s a bit of flawed logic,” Roman scoffed.

“Oh suck a dick,” Remus growled. “Daddy dearest over there ruined our lives. He let Papa die!”

“Father did no such thing!” Roman yelled, sword arm swinging. “He searched for the both of you for years! He mourned for you! I mourned for you!”

“Well, I’m alive! So stick a finger up your asshole!”

Distantly, he noticed that Remus had stalked forward enough that Roman was able to crowd him away from Thomas and more toward the window he came in. He heard quiet footsteps, “Hello, your Majesty.” Logan said, hushed. “It’s me, Logan. Help is on the way.”

Thomas grabbed Logan’s hand in gratitude. He wondered if the dizziness he was feeling was the poison making its way into his heart. Poisoned twice in a row. Virgil was not going to be pleased.

“Don’t think I don’t see your boy toy, Ro-ro,” Remus taunted, and Thomas’ grip on Logan’s hand tightened.

“_Don’t_ call him that,” Roman gritted out, his hand a flurry as his rage got more intense.

“What is he then?” Remus pointed out, stabbing toward Roman. “He’s your Intended. Daddy announced it at the ball. Your Destined as they call it in Aowhea.” Remus chanced a sly look at Logan, and Thomas could see the fury in Logan’s eyes. “Or is he just another toy you’re stringing along. You’ve got a listful of them after all.”

“You’ve kept track?” Roman asked, spinning to dodge an attack.

Remus tensed, stabbing forward mercilessly quick again. “NO!”

“You did, baby brother, you do care!” Roman laughed in delight, neatly dodging Remus’ furious attacks.

“Stop calling me baby brother!” Remus demanded. “You’re barely a minute older!”

“Still older,” Roman sang. “And, it seems I'm taller than you too, Rem-Rem!”

“Half an inch!” Remus growled, lunging in anger. “I’m Captain of the most feared pirate ship in all the nine seas! What have you done? You couldn’t even kill the Dragon Witch!”

“I thought we said we were never going to talk about that!” Roman screeched as he dodged. “Besides what kind of name is Hollycock anyhow? Are you calling yourself a chicken.”

“It's Holly_hock, _And at least I’m getting cock,” Remus leered, and Roman flushed red, glancing away.

Which was his inevitable downfall. Because Remus swept his leg under Roman’s, making him fall hard on his butt on the floor. Logan cried out in shock. “Oh, shut up, boy toy,” growling as he kicked Roman’s sword away.

Remus towered over him, sword pointing at his neck and foot resting on Roman’s chest. “Finally after thirteen years, I get to slice that obnoxious face of yours to pieces.”

“We have the same face!” Roman protested, the heel of Remus’ boot putting more pressure on his chest.

“Mine is better,” Remus sneered. He lifted his sword, ready to swing.

Roman braced himself, eyes screwing themselves closed without his meaning to. Only for a loud clang to reverberate throughout the room.

Roman opened his eyes to see King Ernst standing over Remus’ unconscious body with a disgruntled look, dropping the metal vase with disgust. “Well, that was tedious.”

“What?” he asked at the varying degrees of disbelief staring at him. “You left the door open. He should’ve been paying more attention to his surroundings.”

“Father, what’s this about me being someone’s Destined?” Logan asked, fury prominent in his voice despite its evenness.

King Ernst had the grace to look away to hide his guilty look. Deliriously, Thomas thought that he was still the same man Thomas remembered meeting over twenty years ago.

“I’m still poisoned, I hope you realized.” Thomas said weakly before vomiting.

* * *

“So, I guess the wedding’s off?” Virgil asked, staring at the pond.

“I don’t think so,” Patton said thoughtfully. “Prince Logan is furious with his Father, but he understands why his Father did it the way he did. He might not agree with it, he may be very furious with the decision, but he understands. What about Roman?”

“I think the idiot Prince is in love with your Prince,” Virgil said with a shake of his head. “He might be willing to do a longer courtship now. Take the slow road.”

“Well, I suppose that’s fair, especially after all they’ve been through.” Patton nodded his head, hand absentmindedly feeding oats to the ducks surrounding them. “What happened to Remus?”

“They’ve thrown him into the stocks three days a week for two months,” Virgil said, watching Patton coo over ducklings feeding from his palms. “He’s left doing the grunt work, scuttling around to make up for his offenses. He’s cuffed, can’t go anywhere without at least three guards. He’s been stripped of his prince’s station, but he’s still royalty, just lower in rank. A duke, I think.”

“His Majesty?”

“King Thomas is going to be fine. Healer Brian said that the poison Remus administer to him was a low dosage. He’ll just be incredibly sick for the next two weeks.”

“Can you believe this all happened when we’ve only been here for almost a month. That was a wild b-ride from start to finish.”

“Pat,” Virgil said annoyingly fond, “that was terrible.”

“Thank you!” Patton beamed. “I couldn’t tear myself away from that pun! I’d rather book it than let in lie in pieces.”

“Patton, please,” Virgil begged.

“Ah, there you two lovebirds are!” An annoyingly flamboyant voice startled the two, making them jump apart.

Virgil sighed in annoyance, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What do you want Roman?”

“Can’t I hang out with the two of you without any secret motives?” Roman blinked innocently.

“You clearly have one, you don’t come around to me without one.”

“What if I wanted to talk to Patton?” Roman pouted, crossing his arms.

Virgil raised his brow, and Roman deflated. “Okay, I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to talk to Patton too, but mainly you.”

“What’s up, kiddo?” Patton took pity on him.

Roman glanced nervously over at Logan, who was obliviously reading under a gazebo. He took out a small velvet box, and Patton gasped, hands on his cheeks and pushing his glasses up.

“Is that-?”

Roman shushed him, looking around to make sure Logan didn’t see anything. “I don’t want Logan to know.”

“Merciful Lady, Roman, is that a _ring_?” Virgil asked in exasperation.

“It’s my something small,” Roman defended himself. He opened it up, showing the two the ring.

It was cast in a soft coloured gold, small blue sapphires and rubies encrusted into the metal. It was nothing fancy, simple but luxurious enough that it was obvious Roman spent time and money into this. Patton inspected it closer, noticing something inside the band. “Are those-?”

Roman nodded fondly, “Asters and wisterias. I’ve been reading up on them, the languages. Wisteria means welcome or welcoming and asters have a whole slew of meanings, but I’m going to use the universal one: which is symbol of love.”

Virgil snorted, “How very you.”

The Prince only preened, not taking any offense. “I’m going to give this to him now.” he said, standing up.

Patton waved, out of duck feed, “Good luck.”

Roman nodded determinedly, he walked over to Logan’s side, procuring a bouquet of light pink and dark red roses from nowhere. He looked nervous as Logan looked up.

“You think they’ll be alright?” Virgil asked out of the blue.

Patton hummed, giving it some thought. His hair fell in front of his eyes as he turned to face Virgil, “Yeah, I think they will.”

“And… and us?” Patton could practically taste Virgil’s anxiety in the air. He heard a shriek and hid a smile.

He dug in his pockets, pulling out something small. “Here, something small, right? That’s how you Eiehdens do it around here?”

Virgil looked at the object in Patton’s hand with a little hint of confusion. But he took the small beaded bracelet with charms carefully, holding it reverently in his fingers.

“I’ll help you put it on,” Patton said with a small smile, taking the purple bracelet and looping it around Virgil’s wrist.

He wrapped an arm around Virgil’s shoulder carefully, feeling how he tensed. “I think we’re going to be alright.”

He glanced back, seeing how Roman and Logan were hugging the life out of each other. Patton smiled, wide and broad.

“I think we’re _all_ going to be alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo, how's that for an ending. One year, 16 chapters, over 45,000 words and this is where it ends. but who knows there might be a pre/sequel for this story soon. i've left a lot of things open ended just for that reason. thank you all so very much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
